


Sanctity

by FuryFiction



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Good Lucius Malfoy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, James Potter Lives, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryFiction/pseuds/FuryFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry encourages his father to find love again, but James ends up finding love is possibly the worst place possible. </p><p>Or:</p><p>'It just had to be the father of my nemesis, didn't it?'</p><p>CURRENTLY ON HAITUS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One, Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE and is in no way supposed to be canon compliant. It's also been years since I have seen the movies or read the books, so I am likely to get a lot of things wrong (sometimes intentionally). Please don't bother reminding me about how little I know of Harry Potter, this is just a fanfic and it's going to be inaccurate. Don't like the sound of that? Return button is located on the top left of your browser. Toodles.

* * *

  **Early August, 1992**

* * *

 

'You've thought about it then?'

James took a moment to curse as he absent-mindedly shut his fingers in the kitchen drawer, both distracted by Harry talking and his own clumsiness. The space between the wood and marble neatly split the skin just above the nail of his index and he let out a hiss of pain, pulling it out again to suck away the tiny bead of blood that appeared. 

'Sorry,' his son mumbled apologetically, though the cut was minor, 'but I think that proves my point, don't you?'

A wince came from James as he sucked the wound clean, 'what point was that?'

'That you were thinking of asking Professor Burbage out.'

Had James not already jammed his fingers in the kitchenware, he most certainly would have done at this declaration, 'whatever gave you _that_ idea?'

'You mentioned her name when you came home the other day,' Harry propped his elbows up onto the kitchen counter, his face like a little dog waiting for tidbits, 'she works at the school doesn't she? Hermione says she teaches Muggle Studies. You could always-'

'As much as I appreciate your dedication to matchmaking Harry, I have no interest in Charity Burbage or any of the other charming teachers in your school. Yes, she was able to show me a few fascinating texts on Muggle History but other than that I find her as about attractive as a glammed up Banshee.'

' _Dad_ ,' Harry reprimanded, though this was followed by an unattractive snort, 'you're such an arse!'

'Language, young man. And of course I'm an arse, I'm a Potter!' James accounted as he resumed in raking about the cutlery tray until he located the appropriate utensil for opening a can of tuna, 'it's in our blood to make arses of ourselves. Besides, it's not as if I'm even attractive to women anymore. Look at me.'

'You look _fine_ ,' Harry huffed, rolling his eyes every time his father fussed over every single grey hair that ever temporarily appeared on his head, 'Merlin, you'd be surprised how many women would actually be eager to-'

'No one likes an old man Harry.'

'You're thirty-three!'

'And not a day older I hope!' James sassed as he battled with the damned lid, trying to pull it off unsuccessfully with a can opener, 'when you get to my age you begin to miss the days of your youth; the freedom, the irresponsibility, being able to eat all you want without worrying about excessive weight gain-'

'Not to mention all the early mornings and the exams and no one listening to what you have to say until you're eighteen,' Harry finished, swiping an orange from the bowl in the centre of the counter, 'being a kid isn't all fun and games Dad.'

'I'm only advising you to savour your time while you can - before you know it you'll be old and grey with a son who is determined to find you a wife before you crumble into a pile of dust.' He surrendered to the tuna can, realising he was going to lose skin through his clumsy attempts to remove the lid; with a brief glance from left to right, he quietly withdrew his wand and summoned it off wordlessly, making Harry gawp.

'Dad! You can't do that!'

'I doubt the Ministry is going to be on my tail about dislodging a tin of fish,' James replied, finally able to scrape the stuff out, 'besides, no one else saw it. You worry too much Harry. They say a lot of that stuff just to scare the students you know.'

Realising they were getting off topic, Harry began peeling the fruit in his hands, 'so when _are_ you going to start...you know...looking for someone again?'

He knew his father was rather touchy on the subject of relationships. After all, he and Lily had been childhood sweethearts according to Sirius; it's hard enough moving on from a lover, let alone someone you shared the other half of your life with. But James needed someone. Harry was observant and he knew the man needed _someone_ in his life other than his son, someone to hold and kiss and...well, do other stuff that he was too young to know about yet. It would be difficult for the both of them - James for moving on and Harry for being able to accept the possibility of a stepmother in Lily's place - but so long as that person brought as much light to his father's eyes as she had, it would be worth the sacrifice of the routine they had become so accustomed to since his mother's murder.

'Wasn't planning on starting any time soon,' James finally replied, though the volume of his voice had dropped dramatically since his last speech, 'things are pleasant enough how they are; plus you're starting your second year of school in three weeks-'

'But you're not happy.'

The hands holding the tuna can paused and James felt a sigh mount at the back of his throat. Harry dropped the orange onto the counter, suddenly uninterested in it. He wished he hadn't said anything now. James rarely got angry; Harry never gave him much reason for him to lose his temper but the man seemed to be holding back a fierce sort of bite that Harry was terrified he had unleashed. 

'Don't be ridiculous, of course I'm happy,' said James, finally, with a calm and heavy breath, 'I know there are plenty of things to be miserable about...and we've had our problems in the past but that doesn't mean I don't-'

'You think I don't notice,' Harry mumbled as he felt a heat rise in his face and pool into both cheeks, 'you think I don't notice when you talk to yourself, or you talk to Mum. I hear you crying at night Dad - either by yourself or to Uncle Sirius. I know that you're lonely. I know you miss her...'

Something strange and painful passed between them. It wasn't as if Lily was an unspoken topic in the household; quite the contrary, they discussed her a lot. It was James's guilt that was the real burden; the guilt of being alive, of existing, of breathing the very air she once breathed herself without the presence of his wife, his best friend to share it with him. He never appreciated her when she was alive; he never told Harry about the last few months before Lily was killed, when their marriage was on the rocks and the only thing holding it together was the baby they had made and loved so dearly. Maybe when Harry was older he would explain things properly. Right now was just...too soon. 

Sirius often told him to stop feeling guilty simply for being alive; Harry had a father, family to protect him; God knows what may have become of him had he lost _both_ of his parents. Lily was dead. It had happened and there was nothing he or anyone else could have done. He had to stop living in the past. Finding somebody else to share his bed with was all part of moving on.

James abandoned the tuna can and carefully took Harry's face in his hands so their eyes met directly; those wonderful green orbs identical to Lily's own, the last living replica he had of his late wife - save for the seemingly artificial portraits that were hung up about the house and the few enchanted photographs Harry possessed that simply occurred in a continuous loop.

'Hey...' he murmured in the softest tone he could and his thumbs extended into a gentle stroke to soothe the boy, 'it's my job to worry about _you_ , okay? I'm fine. I know we're not completely out of the woods yet but...the Ministry has our back. We have Sirius with us, we...' he temporarily forgot his initial point and wet his lips, 'you're always going to be the most important person in my life, Harry. We don't need anyone else meddling in with that, do we?'

Harry lowered his eyes but he didn't want to press on the subject; he knew the situation was probably more distressing for James than himself. He never knew Lily. He never knew of her brilliance apart from what he had been told. He only knew her as a photograph or a portrait or a faded wish only accessible through an enchanted mirror. His bottom lip curled inwards, 'I suppose not...'

A hand reached up to ruffle the twelve-year-old's mess of dark hair, 'good lad. Now go and bother your Godfather for a bit while I figure out how to get this damn oven working.'

Harry cocked a brow, 'Uncle Sirius still trusts you around ovens?'

'Give over Harry, I'm not _that_ bad,' James retorted with mock offence, sweeping over to the ageing contraption and giving its knobs a tweak, 'it's very simple once you-'

He was swiftly cut off as he tweaked one of the knobs a little too vigorously and it went flying off the utensil altogether, bouncing off each wall before slamming solidly against the kitchen door; whereupon Sirius's voice shortly followed in an annoyed huff from the next room, 'Prongs!'

'You see? It's brilliant,' James leaned on the oven thoughtfully, 'you can cook your meals _and_ annoy Sirius all at once.'

* * *

On the same day, around the same time, Abraxas Malfoy knocked on the door of Malfoy Manor and was immediately greeted by his son, who promptly vomited all over the welcome mat as soon as he opened his mouth.

It was rare for Abraxas to visit the manor more than once a year; most of the time he was either too ill or too disgusted to show his face. But when he received a letter from his only child announcing the tragic demise of his daughter-in-law, he claimed "traditional values" were what dragged him there. 

Draco heard Lucius retching from upstairs and came hurrying from his bedroom with the draught their physician had prescribed to prevent the bile from becoming blood; in a matter of seconds he had tipped his father's head back, poured a few drops down his throat and the gagging ceased. Abraxas, though somewhat disturbed and perhaps sympathetic, kept to the side and said nothing. 

Draco wasn't stupid. He knew that his estranged grandfather was positively furious at Lucius for the state he had gotten himself into (and worried, to some extent, though he only ever seemed to show anger). Lucius's drinking was a wall between himself and the hell outside; so long as he was intoxicated, the meaningless perils of reality were non-existent until he woke up the next morning with a roaring headache. He was a frightening drunk. Never violent; he had never raised a hand to Draco in his life. But a completely different man nonetheless; he wouldn't speak, he cried for little to no reason at all and spent the rest of the night throwing up his guts until he passed out on the bathroom floor. It was his way of coping, his method of healing in a time of grief. He seemed to find solace in destroying himself. 

Abraxas's visit lasted just under a week. Draco remained by his father's side the entire time, terrified that Abraxas would attack out of nowhere if he took his eye off him for more than a second; while he was around, the old man merely stuck to the shadows, snapping about how Lucius's poor mother would be turning in her grave whenever he so much as glanced at a firewhiskey bottle. In return, Lucius was as responsive as a ghost; spiritless, inactive, clutching Draco's little white hand as if it was a lifeline. It was only when Abraxas retired to the spare room every evening that Lucius would draw breath and Draco, whether the man was drunk or not, would help him into bed, blowing out the candle and pressing a kiss into layers of blond hair. 

On the fifth night of his grandfather's stay, Draco found himself sitting at the top of the staircase with Dobby hidden underneath his robes, trying (and failing) to ignore all the curses that were coming out of Abraxas's vile mouth in the dining room below, each one more violent and brutal than the first. An incident at dinner was the cause of this "intervention." In other words, Lucius, who had actually been sober the entire day, had poured himself a reasonably sized glass of wine and Abraxas well and truly lost it. Draco had been ordered to bed but he hung about the staircase anxiously, wishing he could see through walls. 

'Such filthy words!' Dobby shrieked, voice muffled beneath the fabric of Draco's night robes, 'Dobby can't stand to hear such words! A horrible, vile man is Mr Abraxas Malfoy!' Draco hummed impatiently as the elf immediately regretted this statement and took to bonking his own head against one of the cold steps, 'bad Dobby, _bad_ Dobby!'

'Shh, I can't hear!' the boy hissed to silence the creature and he quickly hastened down the staircase as soon as he heard the door to the dining room slam abruptly. He pressed his ear to the marble, trying to hear the voices inside but it was muffled, incoherent and simply words slurred by his grandfather's temper. Perhaps it was a good thing he couldn't hear. The sound of a hand meeting flesh would have surely been enough to release the scream mounting up inside him that had been keen to erupt in the dreadful weeks since his mother's demise. Finally he heard Lucius yell and a dull thud followed short that made Draco shake all over. He pushed the door open, casually ignoring Dobby who tugged at his robe and implored him not to enter and slowly drank in the image of his father pressed up against the wall with one of Abraxas's quivering hands clamped around his throat.

'You are the most selfish, incompetent--' Abraxas began, before cutting off and pushing Lucius further back, until he was almost gasping for breath, 'no wonder this family is going to pieces. You think I _enjoy_  treating you like a child? I certainly don't! But I do it for the good of the Malfoy lineage and if coddling prevents you from destroying everything your ancestors worked hard for, then I'll do it until the day I die!'

 _Coddling_. Draco tried to shout but the only sound he could make was a small, undignified squeak. Abraxas heard, however, and immediately dropped his arm down to his side, as if he had just been caught doing something as trivial as picking his nose. Heat blazed into Draco's usually porcelain face and his eyes filled with tears. 'Don't hurt my father,' he managed to babble out but he was too scared to run over, because Abraxas would only blame Lucius and injure him further. He stayed at the door with Dobby clinging to his ankle and his lips pressed in a thin line to keep himself from sobbing aloud. Abraxas looked right into his eyes, as if desperate to find some way to control his grandson the same way he had controlled the rest of his family for decades. It didn't work. Draco loved his grandfather but refused to be broken.

'I think it's high time we were all in bed,' Abraxas said after an extremely long period of silence; he took his hand off Lucius's neck and Draco swore he heard him mutter something awful about Narcissa under his breath as he walked past him and out into the hall. As soon as he was gone, Lucius's knees buckled and Draco hurried over to the man before he collapsed, supporting him out of the drawing room and up the stairs as well as a twelve-year-old could. 

'You're such a good boy,' Lucius blurted out unexpectedly, once they reached his bed, and before Draco could answer, the man had burst into tears. Startled, the young Slytherin awkwardly requested a handkerchief from Dobby and gently brushed away the tears that rolled down his father's ever reddening cheeks until Lucius had exhausted himself and laid his head down to sleep.  With a soft sigh, Draco took a few moments to pull the covers over the sleeping man and kiss his temple before he glided back to his own room to look over his clothes for the funeral that was to commence the following day. But the room was so cold and the air so eerie and the furious pacing of his grandfather so loud that he became exhausted from his own emotions and threw himself into bed instead.

There was nothing for him to do. He could only take comfort in knowing that in a few days Abraxas would be leaving and his father, his poor father, wouldn't be hurt anymore. Lucius would sleep in tomorrow; then attend his late wife's funeral with his usual aristocratic demeanour after a quick spell to ward off a hangover and some of Dobby's magic to further heal the scars where he had been unfairly whipped. But he was mere pieces of the man he used to be. And Draco feared that one of these days he would end up dead, whether it was at Abraxas's hand or not.

He didn't want his father to die. He didn't want to be looking after him for the rest of his life either. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were before.

He pulled the bedcovers over his head and screamed. 


	2. Part One, Chapter Two

* * *

**Mid-August, 1992**

* * *

Being in the public eye was the most terrifying feeling in the world to Harry.

He had eleven years of practice dealing with the media, which would lead one to assume that he was now accustomed to the constant stares and the crowds and the whispering; but he wasn't and he would do anything he could to avoid going outside altogether, because he knew that once he strayed from the safety of the Muggle population, some git with a camera would corner him in Diagon Alley and demand to know what he had for breakfast that morning. Everybody wanted a piece of him. Everybody wanted a glimpse of the Boy Who Lived, the boy who had defied all odds and escaped Voldemort's killing curse when he was barely a year old. Harry hated the attention and he would hide behind his father whenever the cameras got too close or the interviewers got too personal. 

James found it easier to deal with the hassle of the public. He had mastered keeping himself scarce from the press and had spent most of Harry's short life teaching him how to survive as a celebrity, because the poor boy had never asked for this life and perhaps if James had been quicker on his feet, he could have stopped all this from ever happening. Harry despised having his privacy invaded. But the darling boy took everything in his stride for the sake of his father; because he knew this sort of life was more painful for James than it could ever be for him. James was actually _there_ when it all happened; when Voldemort broke into their home, killed his wife and attempted to kill Harry along with her. He was the one who suffered through the nightmares, who could still hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs, the cold rush of evening air against tear-filled eyes, a flash of green light --

Harry considered himself lucky. He lived in a completely different world to James. 

'You shouldn't have come,' he murmured to his father as they crossed the street towards _Flourish and Blotts_ where they had agreed to meet Hermione and the Weasleys, 'I mean, if anyone sees you...'

'I'll tell them to get stuffed,' James grinned, 'kidding, Harry - just do what we normally do, alright? Smile, be polite and when their guards are down, leg it. And what do we do if somebody touches you and you don't like it?'

'I make a loud noise and you bash their face in.'

As they approached the bookshop, Harry noticed that a large crowd had gathered outside -- quite unusual, for _Flourish and Blotts_ was usually a very refined spot in Diagon Alley despite the occasional buzz of students in need of school supplies -- but today it was flooded with customers, half of them pouring out onto the street for the lack of room.

'Oh no!'

Harry turned at this exclamation from James and noticed him staring at a large banner stretched across the upper windows.

 

**GILDEROY LOCKHART**

**_will be signing copies of his autobiography_ "MAGICAL ME" ** **_today_  **

 

'Gilderoy Lockhart? Who's that?' Harry quizzed, keeping close to James as a fresh wave of people hoarded towards the shop.

James rested his head against the stone wall with a mournful groan, 'don't ask. Let's just say he's something along the lines of a walking, talking poke in the eye.'

Harry grinned, 'let's take a look then!' and he dragged James through the sea of people, 'come on!'

They found Hermione and Ron near the front of the crowd as promised and took their time searching for the appropriate spellbooks while the long line that spread to the end of the shop eventually began to clear. Harry did his best to compose himself, biting the inside of his cheek as his father sneered in Lockhart's direction, unable to understand why a man would need so many pictures of his own face littered about the place. And it seemed almost certain that among the hubbub, Harry's face would be noticed and he would once again become the performing seal of the freak show. 

It happened a lot quicker than he anticipated; among the thick clouds of smoke that erupted from the flashing cameras, Lockhart somehow managed to pick them out in the crowd and they were hauled to the front for a close-up. Harry knew the routine; smile, be polite and if he got sick of the camera he was to stand behind James and keep his head down. It was routine for them but years of being in the media had taken its toll on the poor boy and he had become extremely camera-shy; and right now he just wanted to hide in his father's robes and disintegrate into a pile of dust. When James felt a hand being fisted into the back of his robes and the soft poke of Harry's nose burying into his side, he responsibly stepped in front of the boy so he was no longer in line with the camera and announced that they would not be posing for any more photographs; the crowd did well to respect his wishes and instantly dissolved. 

'That's another feature for the Daily Prophet,' James huffed as they finally managed to escape the mob and find a secluded spot beneath the staircase, 'Merlin's beard, that man! He could talk for the entire English nation!'

'I think you were squinting in one of those photos.'

'Oh Harry, don't go telling me that now!'

Once they had reclaimed Hermione and Ron, James momentarily excused himself to allow Harry to shop with his friends - knowing that hanging out with your Dad and buying school supplies wasn't exactly the most hip thing for a boy of twelve to do - and took his time pretending to take great interest in a few texts on Herbology, pretending that no one was staring at him. It had been over a decade and the shop was still exactly the same as it was when he was a student, shopping for his school supplies with his friends; he fondly remembered the time Remus and Peter accidentally hexed the entire stationary section so the poor assistant was rounded upon by an army of quills and Sirius laughed so hard he fell down the stairs and hit his head on the book trolley. They would have been barred for life had their books not been an essential part of the curriculum. 

A sudden pain struck his lower back and the scar at the base of his spine, jagged and almost the shape of an antler, began to burn fiercely. It was a warning. A sign that--

No, it couldn't have been You Know Who. Not now, after all this time.

It had been so long James almost prayed he didn't exist anymore, though he knew he would always be there in some respects, hanging off every shadow of the room. He had been alarmed when Harry began complaining of his scar only a year before; he had wanted to take the boy out of Hogwarts altogether, keep him at home but Dumbledore denounced that idea and said it would only result in them both being killed. Perhaps the old man was right, even if he was becoming rather baffling in his old age. Nevertheless, the scar had been correct; danger was just around the corner and when James received an owl that Harry was in the hospital wing after almost being killed over that God forsaken stone, he very nearly lost his mind completely. But it had been a year and Harry hadn't mentioned any pain; and James's scar had been inactive from the day he received it.

So why was it only hurting now?

Whatever was coming, whether it really was Voldemort or just someone's idea of a sick joke, keeping Harry safe was James's only priority. So long as he was able to live a relatively normal life with his beloved, albeit rather spoiled son, James didn't care what happened. He didn't want to be a celebrity; and he had no desire for Harry to be thrown into that lifestyle either. He wanted it to be them against the world; just a quiet, peaceful life spent with Sirius and that damnable owl. If it couldn't be a normal life, at least it could be a happy one. 

'Potter?'

That voice. He knew it somehow, before he had even turned his head to address the person speaking. It was a voice he knew from another life, another existence. One before Harry. One before Lily even. 

'Hello James.'

His eyes fell first upon the silver snake-headed cane and the pale fingertips that caressed it - and he remembered when those fingers held it clumsily, constantly lost their grip and allowed it to clatter against the floor. They used to hate holding that cane; they used to throw it down in frustration or try to break it across their knee. But now they held it with the greatest of care, as if it was made of glass. James felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards and he was unsure why. He should have been angry. Unfathomably angry. But he just couldn't be. Not now, when he felt such relief.

'Hello Lucius.'

Malfoy had aged so well. He had just fallen into his skin so perfectly. Yet James could still see a frightened young man trapped in there, trying to find a way out. Closed in, pushed to the side; paralysed in the world of money and appearances. Those fingers tapped against the tip of the serpent's head. 'How very considerate of you to drop in. It's certainly been a while.'

'I never was very good with long distance.'

Lucius pretended to look dismayed, 'not a single owl sent in my direction.'

The emptiness of the man was alarming, as if he was completely transparent and James could see right through that powdered façade, into the hollow depths beneath, 'how's Cissy?'

'Dead.'

Malfoy said it so calmly that James had to double take. He peered at Lucius as if he was joking and then blanched when he realised he most certainly wasn't. 'Oh...' he hadn't been this flabbergasted since Sirius squelched into the Gryffindor common room covered head to foot in treacle, 'I...I'm so sorry.'

'I don't want your sympathy,' Lucius responded coldly, but his eyes remained fixated on the serpent head, as if he would fall apart if he focused on anything else, 'sentimentality never gets you anywhere, Potter. Typical Gryffindor.'

'I see you haven't grown out of being an insufferable prat, then.'

He wanted some sort of reaction from Malfoy. Some snide comment that he would give to the likes of a Weasley; but to James, Lucius was just an empty skin. He had been gnarled into what someone else wanted him to be his entire life.

Grey eyes glared at James distastefully but Lucius never dismissed his comment, nor did he appraise it. His fingers tapped along cane with impatience as if there was some secret morse code that he was desperately trying to make evident, like a silent cry for help. 

'I see you can't even walk into a bookshop nowadays without causing some sort of commotion,' his husk purr of a voice sounded like it could rip through layers of flesh, 'weren't you in the Daily Prophet for the third time this year--?'

'It's good to see you, Lucius.'

That seemed to knock the man off his high horse. He finally looked at James properly, slightly perplexed and James stared back coolly with a goofy, triumphant smirk on his lips. There was nothing more satisfying than outsmarting a Malfoy.

Lucius huffed but the sound was meek, 'well...it appears you're still oozing with charm.'

'Only when I'm talking to irritable blond kittens like yourself.'

The jaws of the snake were suddenly digging into James's shoulder, 'watch your mouth, Potter.'

Said "charm" was certainly simmering in the Gryffindor's bones that morning; he pulled a move he had used on Lily during their courting days and fisted his hand into the other man's front, tugging him forward until their faces were inches apart. 'My apologies Malfoy,' he murmured, 'you know me - never know when to shut my trap.'

' _Don't_ ,' Lucius hissed affirmatively, though he made no move to pull away; and for a moment his face contorted into an expression of pain, 'your fans might be watching...'

'Let them. That's all they ever do,' James took no notice of the stares they received in the background, wishing they would all just forget he existed for a few uninterrupted seconds, 'give up desiring the limelight, Malfoy. It's not a pleasant place to be.'

That horrible silence returned, biting and biting and James ached to say something, though he was unsure of what exactly to say. Lucius was impossible to talk to; he had built a barrier between himself and the world and there was no way of knocking it down without tearing through thick, stubborn layers first. 

His attention on the man was stolen by the voice of one of Arthur Weasley's children (though which one he was unsure of,) shouting from the other end of the bookstore. They seemed to have picked a fight with a fellow Hogwarts student and it was evident things were getting heated; so James released the Death Eater and weaved his way through the rest of the gawping crowed until he reached the party of youngsters who were gathered near the stairway. 

'-not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, _Weasley_ ,' a young blond boy who seemed daftly familiar sneered in Ron's direction, 'I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those,' he motioned to the pile of spellbooks mounted in the ginger's arms.

 _Woah, a little harsh_ , James found himself thinking, though he had to admit it was a good one. Best way to get at a kid was to bring their family's wealth into perspective - oh what was he talking about? He was supposed to be appalled by this behaviour! But before he could stage any sort of intervention, Arthur Weasley came bustling over to see what the fuss was about and suggested they go outside before the place became even more crowded as it was. Seemed like a good idea to James; he was sick of the staring and he knew Harry could fight like a demon if necessary, so it was best to make a quick exit before someone lost their teeth. 

'Well, well, well. Arthur Weasley.'

 _Oh no._  

'Lucius, don't,' James said shortly as the blond man came forwards - and it was then that he made the connection between he and the boy who challenged Ron; really, he should have worked it out sooner. Their resemblance was almost as undeniable as he and Harry's. He noticed he had caught the child's attention but the sneer seemed to have disappeared; more a look of twisted curiosity as those grey eyes darted between he and his son, as if up until now Draco hadn't believed that James really existed.

'Dear me,' Lucius proceeded, ignoring this warning, 'what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?'

' _Lucius_...' James said again, his voice getting more dense; for whenever Lucius opened his mouth, it was someone else talking. James could practically smell the spirit of Abraxas Malfoy in every breath the man took.

There was little point trying to intervene. They both fed off this rivalry, sizing each other up like cats before a duel. And then those fateful words that had James scooting Harry back a few paces before things got hazy.

'-and I thought your family could sink no lower.'

Well, that sealed it. And James had to admit, a very graceful tackle came from Arthur Weasley's side as he launched himself at Lucius and knocked them both backwards into one of the bookshelves. It seemed that the years had done little to effect Malfoy's graceful battle skills - solidly proven as he keeled back and kicked Arthur squarely in the jaw.

Amongst the manic chaos - mainly Molly Weasley squealing " _No Arthur, no!_ " - in the end it was good old Hagrid who came forward to break up the catfight and lifted the two apart as if they were weightless children.

'Nasty...' James muttered, straightening his robes as Harry hesitantly craned his head around from behind him to catch a glimpse of Mr Weasley's split lip, 'remember Harry; if you ever start a fight be sure to avoid getting kicked in the face at all costs.'

Had the situation not been so dire, Harry may have wet himself laughing.

Lucius, whose pride had already been trodden into the mud, had successfully gained a black eye during a collision with a falling book and immediately swept (or rather limped) out of the shop after a final sneering remark aimed towards Ginny, his son scampering after him. Intrigued and slightly concerned, James told Harry to wait behind with his friends before slipping out after the pair into the street.

'Hey Malfoy, wait up a moment!' he called after his fellow pureblood and Lucius turned around with such violent speed, he very nearly crashed into him, 'I, uhm...that's an ugly looking shiner you've got there, you know...'

'Thank you for stating the obvious Potter,' Lucius snapped, though James had to struggle not to laugh at his ferocity; whenever Lucius made that face, it was like a kitten with a thorn in its paw, 'now if you don't mind, I have better things to do than stand around here and talk to _you_.'

'Oh shut up and let me have a look at you.'

He took the Death Eater's face in his hands, blissfully ignoring the exclamation of, 'how dare you! Get your hands off me!' as he carefully examined the harsh colour that had gathered into the skin surrounding Lucius's right eye, already beginning to swell. Eventually Lucius gave up trying to resist and merely seethed silently with hot embarrassment until James gave an amused grunt.

'Pretty brutal,' he smoothed his thumb over the outline of the welt, making Lucius flinch, 'An _Encyclopedia of Toadstools_ right? That's got to be 1000 pages at least.'

Lucius peered at him a moment; Draco's mouth hung open until a wasp's nest could fit into it; and gradually the elder Malfoy actually nodded, 'yes, I think so...how did you-?'

'Not all Potters are incompetent learners, Lucius. Believe it or not, I did pay attention in school,' James sighed and drew out his wand, 'now hold still.'

The tip hovered around the section of the eye that was most damaged and after a few hushed words the bruising slowly began to ease off, melting back into the skin until all that could be seen was a faint line of marking that would only be noticeable for a few days. This action seemed to have rendered Lucius quite speechless - his son even more so - but it was short lived.

'Forever waiting for the opportunity to show off, aren't you Potter?'

James gave a dramatic roll of the eyes, 'you're welcome. Now if you don't mind, I best be getting back to my son. Try not to start any more wars in my absence.'

He couldn't be annoyed, because he pitied Lucius too much. He pitied him for what he had become, what he had submitted himself to. He wasn't his own person and he hadn't been for the majority of his life now. He was always the replica of someone else; always kept at the end of a leash somehow, passed around like a pet. Once the possession of his father; now the possession of the Dark Lord. It was like some screwed up metaphorical wedding.

'Thank you.'

James stopped dead in his tracks, wondering if he had heard right. He craned his head over his shoulder to see Lucius had slightly more colour in those pale cheeks than usual and replied, 'excuse me?'

'Don't make me say it again, Potter,' Lucius's voice sounded insanely dry, as if his dignity had well and truly shrivelled, 'you heard the first time.'

This was as much as he would ever get out of Lucius Malfoy - and so far James was pretty pleased with himself.

'You know...you swing a pretty mean kick Malfoy,' was all he said in return. He nodded at Malfoy and at his son who was still staring at him as if he was a troll, before making his way back to the bookstore to return to Harry. Those grey eyes followed him until he disappeared into the crowd.

'Is that the man you and mother always used to talk about?'

Lucius diverted his attention down to his smaller minion, 'what?'

'Him,' Draco nodded towards the bookstore despite the fact James was already out of sight, 'you and mother always used to talk about a man called James. Was that him?'

'Don't be ridiculous Draco,' his father snapped -- but his face softened when he saw the hurt in the child's eyes and he reached down to gently pet that snow blond hair, 'I'm sorry...' he placed his thumb and forefinger beneath Draco's chin and tilted his head up so their identical eyes could meet, 'come now, I have to stop by Gringotts a moment. And if you behave yourself, I might buy you that kitten I promised you over the summer.'

Draco brightened up almost immediately and gleefully followed the elder man, as dependant on him as a pup; but he found that, even with the prospect of getting a new pet, his mind was constantly rewinding back to their interaction with the father of his most beloved nemesis and he couldn't help but...smile. 

Why did he smile? What on earth was there to smile about when it came to Harry Potter? He wasn't sure. But he was definitely smiling and it felt bizzarely comfortable.


	3. Part One, Chapter Three

 

* * *

**September 1st, 1992**

* * *

 

Seeing Harry onto the train had been difficult enough the first time and was in no way any easier the second. But the excitement that remained in those eyes that resembled Lily's so vividly was enough for James to restrain himself from showing any emotion other than sheer joy as he watched his boy set off for yet another year of adventures that Harry would animatedly tell him about as soon as he arrived home. Sirius would miss him dearly. The only reason he wasn't there was because he would have bawled his eyes out like a baby.  

Lucius Malfoy was there on the platform as well, much to James's surprise. He hadn't expected him to show his face in such a crowd after that incident in the bookshop; but he was present, brushing the dust off his son's robes, fiddling with every loose hair as if the entire wizarding world would simply implode if his child did not look serenely perfect. As the whistle blew for all students to board the train, the Death Eater pulled his little boy into a hug and James just had time to witness him place a kiss between Draco's eyes before remembering that Hedwig was still on the trolley and hastily handing her cage to Harry before the vehicle began to move.

Tears fogged in his eyes as the train pulled out of the station; it hurt to see Harry getting further and further away, out of his reach, still waving in heated excitement until he disappeared back through the window to join his friends. As the crowd of parents began to disband, he noticed the lone figure of Lucius Malfoy remained on the platform, watching after the train until it vanished from sight; as soon as it was gone, the poor man turned away and put his face in his hands. 

'Hey...' James murmured awkwardly as he sidled up to his fellow wizard and he put his hands on Lucius's hunched shoulders, feeling them shake; he wasn't all that good at comforting people, especially not someone so emotionally stumped but he rubbed Lucius's arms to calm him down and fished out the handkerchief he kept stuffed up his sleeve for occasions such as this, 'here...'

A loud sniff and Lucius turned around to give the man an annoyed look, though it was hard to look anything but mentally exhausted; he accepted the handkerchief between his thumb and forefinger, delicately scraping away the droplets of water that were falling down both cheeks, 'I don't want him there. I want him back.'

'I know...' replied James with a sigh on his lips, 'I miss Harry as well. It's always hard saying goodbye.'

Lucius didn't respond but he looked like he was about to start crying again. He waved the handkerchief in James's direction and the senior Potter returned it to his sleeve, certain to inform Sirius that the old rag he had carried about since his youth was now christened with an aristocrat's tears. Though he was mindful to keep this satisfactory note to himself; he had become accustomed to seeing off Harry to school alone. This was the first year Lucius had to do it without Narcissa.

'You're not going to stand there all day are you?' James felt the snake head tap his hip thoughtfully and it seemed that Lucius had pulled himself together, 'come.'

'Where are you going?'

' _We're_ going to the Magical Menagerie to get my son the kitten I promised him,' said Lucius with a playful smirk, 'and _you're_ going to help me pick one. Any objections to that notion?'

James was moved to reply but Malfoy had already started walking and his adventurous spirit spurred on his feet to follow.

* * *

'Which colour?' 

Lucius seemed to be preoccupied with other thoughts and didn't hear James at first, 'hmm?'

'What colour kitten does your lad-?'

'Draco.'

'- _Draco_ want, then?'

'Colour isn't important,' Lucius replied, eyes diverting down to the stones that sprang across the cobbles with each step, 'you know, you're very brave to show your face around here, Potter. That or very foolish.'

'It beats sitting around the house,' James replied with a shrug, 'you can't spend all your days living in fear Malfoy. That isn't a life.'

'I'm well aware of that,' Lucius replied in an unusually gentle purr, 'but you know as well as I do that the Dark Lord-'

'Voldemort, Lucius. His name is Voldemort.'

Malfoy flinched and a numb sensation washed through every muscle and limb at the very mention of that name, 'yes... _him_. You know as well as I do that he could be anywhere. It's enough risking your son's life by sending him to that infernal school-'

'You used to love Hogwarts.'

'I was a child then, James. People change.'

'You still loved it. You couldn't wait for the summer to end, remember? You told me in your letters.' 

'Don't change the subject. You're still risking his life sending him there with the Dark Lord liable to return at any time. After what happened with the Philosopher's Stone-'

'Harry never asked for this,' James cut in, as they arrived outside the shop, 'he goes looking for trouble, I won't deny that. He has his father's blood after all,' at this Lucius gave an exasperated grunt, 'but he never does it for the recognition or the papers. He follows his heart and does what he thinks is right. He knows how to watch out for himself.'

'It's startling that you trust a twelve-year-old child to fight his own battles.'

'He's my son. Of course I trust him. What sort of father would I be if I didn't?'

Those wicked grey eyes studied his features, as if searching for dishonesty but they found none, so Lucius pushed open the shop door without another word. James, with another secretive smirk of triumph, followed him in and the fresh scent of fur and damp floors brought back those careless days of dragging Frank Longbottom inside to see if there was a sale on any of the Pygmy Puffs or the transforming rabbits. He was unsure of what to say to Lucius after his previous speech; which seemed to have plunged the former Slytherin into a state of steely silence, of which all James received in return was a chilling glare whenever he glanced in his direction. Perhaps he had taken it too far; drawn the rope too short, as his mother used to put it. An apology was in order, he decided as they approached the counter and Malfoy intimidated the shopkeeper into showing them her queen's most recent litter, feigning ignorance at the stares cast from fellow customers.

'Oh, they're _lovely_ ,' James took it upon himself to comment when they were shown the litter; who seemed barely out of their mother's belly, yet were already leaping about the place like tiny robotic frogs; his hand hovered over the selection until he found a small tom buried under the rest and lifted it out by the scruff. 'This one?' he inquired to Malfoy and a brief shake of the head came as a result. He replaced the lively tom back within its siblings and pulled out a golden furred queen; a sight which earned a slight wrinkle of the nose that had the tiny cat deposited back faster than she came.

Lucius remained positively mute during James's inspection; the only movement he ever made was when he reached down a hand to caress the feline mother who had drifted away from her flock and comfortably placed herself in one of the worn out chairs near the tanks of Giant Orange Snails. It seemed the task of choosing one of the furry critters had been left entirely to the senior Potter but he didn't have the patience to voice his disapproval and focused solely on finding the snobbiest looking ball of fur he could locate within the fleet of tiny moggies.

He discovered the hard way that it was a bad idea to move closer to the litter, for once he was near enough the largest of the pack suddenly leapt at his knees and in a bizarre moment of absent-minded clumsiness, he forgot his own strength and flung her back. This assault seemed to arouse the entire hive and out of nowhere there were half a dozen, four-legged, short-haired fiends nipping at every available weak spot. Lucius, who had found himself caught up in an interrogation with the shop owner over the appropriate diet for a kitten, shot forwards at an alarming pace and with the flick of his wand managed to retract the ferocious creatures away before they could so much as tear a hole in James's pant leg.

‘What the devil happened?!’ he demanded, grey eyes wide with inhospitable horror, 'Merlin's beard, Potter, can't you last five minutes without fooling around?'

' _Fooling around_?' Cried James, outraged, 'I was attacked! Those evil little buggers-!' he cut off when he felt a scrabbling at his coattails and realised one of the little scavengers had plunged her teeth into the material, refusing to yield as he attempted to shake her off, 'oh would you look at that? We have a survivor!' 

‘By Salazar, you would have thought there were a fleet of gargoyles in here!' Malfoy snapped but he quickly seized James's hands when he saw blood on the skin and his brow creased with worry, 'are you alright? They didn't bite you?'

'Only a flesh wound,' James retorted as Lucius carefully wiped the cut and then moved to dislodge the tiny beast that was clinging desperately to James's clothing, 'is she the one then?'

'I believe so.'

'She's cute,' James stuck out a finger to lightly brush the animal's nose, grunting as a tiny paw swatted at him in response, 'what will you call her?'

'Draco will name her,' Lucius replied blandly, taking the kitten to the till and placing her on the counter, 'it will give him something to look forward to when he comes home from school,' a bag of coins were set on the counter shortly after the cat, 'he has little else to look forward to after all...'

James winced sympathetically, 'I'm sure he'll love her. Come on, I'll take you for a drink; the Leaky Cauldron sound good to you?'

'Are you planning to get me drunk by the end of this excursion, Potter?'

'Why else would I ask?'

* * *

'Merlin's beard...' James stared in awe as Lucius shot his fourth firewhiskey down his throat without so much as a shiver, 'where'd you learn to do that?'

'Malfoy's can handle their liquor, Potter,' Lucius replied, setting the glass down in front of him and scanning James's mildly intoxicated state, 'unlike some.'

'Oh shut up, I've only had two,' James grumbled, though he felt himself waver as he spoke; it was some strong stuff, by thunder, 'besides, it's five in the afternoon. Perfect time to let loose and knock back a few.'

'I do hope you can remember where you live by the end of tonight.'

'Don't be ridiculous - a Potter never forgets his own doorstep!' It seemed as though, bizarrely, he was becoming amusing to Malfoy. He took a moment to try and sober up, 'you know, my son isn't all that fond of yours.'

Lucius instantly looked bored, 'yes, I'm aware.'

'Apparently Draco gave him a hard time last year.'

'He is very selective in his friends.'

'He also can't seem to handle rejection all too well either.'

Lucius's jaw clicked, 'what exactly are you trying to say, Potter?'

'Nothing, nothing. Just keeping the conversation going.'

He started on his third glass but by now Lucius had lost interest in the alcohol and pushed his own cup forward out of reach, 'Draco's had a hard time adjusting. Last year was rather... _traumatic_ for him, let's just say. He had never been exposed to anything associated with the Dark Lord before and...well, Narcissa never really forgave me for it...'

James leaned forwards, setting the firewhiskey down, 'what happened?'

Cold fingers trailed up Lucius's shirt sleeve, 'he saw it.'

'The Dark Mark?'

'Shh!'

The gentle hubbub of noise around them was enough to discourage any eavesdroppers but still, Lucius was paranoid and James tempted to put a silencing spell on them both, 'what did Draco do?'

'He asked what it was.'

'And?'

Lucius's gaze fell to his hands and for a moment James's heart jarred between his ribs, 'what? You told him?'

'Don't be a fool,' Malfoy replied, 'I told him it was just a tattoo, something I got for fun. But Narcissa was enraged when she found out that Draco had seen. She told me she wanted me to break off from him altogether.'

'From Voldemort?'

'Mm.'

'And what did you say?'

Lucius shrugged, 'what _could_ I say? You don't just _leave_ the Dark Lord. Not alive anyhow. Once you have the Dark Mark, you never go back.'

'What did Cissy do?'

'Threatened to leave and take Draco with her,' Lucius returned the glass to his lips and took a much needed sip, 'I have to say, I was tempted to let her go. It would mean keeping her and Draco safe after all. Even if it meant I wasn't a part of their lives anymore. But Draco wouldn't go. So she stayed for him. And that's when-'

'They killed her?'

James had been humbled to the core; the sheer tragedy of it was almost too much to comprehend. He felt Lucius's eyes harrow right into his soul and suddenly felt extremely sick. The firewhiskey churned about in his stomach like a washing machine. 

'They didn't kill her,' Malfoy finally replied, 'the press assumed that. They assumed the Death Eaters executed her but that's untrue. She hung herself in her bedroom the morning after Draco refused to leave. She would rather die than submit her life to the Dark Lord.'

James felt a warm rush of grief overcome his complexion, 'oh Lucius...'

'She was far braver than I will ever be.'

They drank in silence for a moment; both of them unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. It didn't seem appropriate to talk. It seemed only right to have a moment of silence for Narcissa Black; the lady who was the pillar that held her family together despite her forced and sexually lifeless marriage with Lucius that was unified by their parents when they were barely sixteen years of age. They had never been _in_ love; in fact when they first met as children, he really couldn't stand her. She was his first relationship, his first lover and for the first few years of their marriage, they were two people living in the same house but in two completely separate worlds. But he missed her. She was his wife but most of all, his only friend.

'I'm glad we came out today.'

Lucius looked up from his drink, eyes slightly glassy and replied to James's statement, 'I suppose...'

Movement stirred from within his robes and he parted them a moment to make room for their pint-sized companion who had woken from her slumber in his inside pocket and was eager to explore the humid atmosphere of the pub around her.

'She really is beautiful,' James said tactfully, wondering how those hands that held the young creature so gently could ever hold a wand that shot a Muggle to the ground without any hesitation, 'she looks like...like...a Malfoy's cat shall we say?'

Lucius nodded without a verbal response, fingers curling into that thick white fur, 'well, once we get her back to the Manor we'll have to see what she makes of the place.'

James's hand paused in bringing his half empty glass back to his mouth, ' _we?_ '

Lucius gave an exasperated roll of the eyes, 'you didn't honestly think I was going to let you buy me a drink and not invite you back to the manor afterwards? I _am_ a gentleman, Potter.'

'And how do I know this isn't all a plot to ensnare me in Voldemort's hands?'

'I'm really not in the mood to see you killed today,' replied Lucius sweetly, 'I have a headache coming on.'

Of course this all could have been a rouse. A place like Malfoy Manor was the perfect location to be unexpectedly abducted or murdered without anyone hearing you scream. He wouldn't be surprised if Lucius had been reeling him in this whole time, using this enticing socialisation as bait. But all those years of separation had left him curious and he wanted to see what Lucius Malfoy had become. It wouldn't hurt to visit the Manor. It wouldn't hurt to allow his old playmate to further quench his thirst for knowledge even further.

'Alright,' he swallowed down the rest of the glass and set it down firmly on the table top with a soft hiccup. 

* * *

'You've, erm...' finding the most tactful words suddenly seemed near impossible for James, '...been redecorating I see?'

He almost flushed at the senile glance he received from Malfoy; and in this rare moment of embarrassment failed to notice the house elf that scuttled in his direction to take their coats. The way Lucius spoke to the elf was appalling. It never used to be like that - but James was becoming accustomed to change and he realised that the former Slytherin had well and truly stepped into his father's skin and was reliving his callous spirit. He was tempted to assist Dobby by relieving him of the clothing that very nearly pinned him to the ground once tossed in his arms; but Lucius was already making his way to the drawing room, kitten in hand and it seemed wiser following his host to avoid any possibility of becoming hopelessly lost. 

As soon as he stepped into the drawing room, he was greeted by a guttural snarl and stumbled back four or five paces; a dog the size of a small pony lingered menacingly near the hearth, accompanied by another that guarded the armchair and James found his gaze cast wearily in the direction of the tiny cat who squirmed in Malfoy's gloved hands.

'Will she be alright?' he asked tactfully as Lucius placed the tiny creature onto the rug, within reaching distance of the hounds, 'I mean...the dogs won't-?'

'Unless they want _all_ their treats revoked for life, they won't touch her,' was Malfoy's curt reply and he frowned at the dogs the way a mother does to a naughty child until they cringed beneath his glare and obediently placed their heads upon the floor. The kitten presided the drawing room entirely, suitably locating her small body onto the armchair near the hearth and curling into herself to presumably fall asleep.

'Firewhiskey?'

James was so transfixed by the absurd cordial indoctrination that had overcome the fauna in the room that he barely heard him, 'more? You just drank gallons of the stuff!'

'That was almost an hour ago,' Lucius reprimanded but he discarded the bottle onto the table anyway, suddenly bored of it, 'perhaps a tour of the house will sober you up a little? You're still red in the face.'

'Am not,' was Potter's stubborn reply but he found himself scurrying after the blond like a crup anyway. 

Despite what he faintly remembered of Malfoy Manor, James had never quite anticipated it to still be _this_ magnificent after so many years. Dark and rather narrow in places, yes, but overall rather breath-taking; like stepping into a picture almost. Though he couldn't help but feel - as well as satisfying awe - that the hideous sting of death was hanging about on every wall and door like thick clouds of smog. 

He knew that Lucius could feel it too but he still had that wall to hide behind and he would never allow it to grow thin enough to reveal any sort of emotion within his ghostly composure. He kept in step with the former Gryffindor, eyes focused on the creaking floorboards and the dust that flew up in faint wisps every time pressure was applied to the wood. Everything was dry and lacking any sort of life; and they passed through each room like ghosts. 

'This is the bedroom-' Lucius began and his voice instantly died as soon as it came, 'don't go in there.'

As if James would even consider it. He did his best to avoid looking at any of the portraits; all of the Malfoy lineage looking down at him with their noses screwed up until he really, _really_ just wanted to get a black marker and doodle all over their faces. Clearly this wasn't an option; but he allowed the tip of his tongue to poke out ever so slightly between his teeth and sniggered as their lips curled inwards with disgust.

'So...' James made an steady attempt to create conversation as they arrived back at their first destination, having done a full ring around the house, '...Harry and Draco...'

Lucius helped himself to the rest of the firewhiskey that James had declined - then snuffed the glass and drank the stuff straight from the bottle, 'yes? What about them?'

'I was thinking-'

'That would be a first.'

'-that maybe we should...I don't know...encourage them to be friends?'

Lucius lowered the bottle slightly, peering at the other man over the rim, 'Draco has plenty of friends already.'

'As does Harry,' James replied indignantly, 'but sometimes the summers can be lonely for him, what with his friends being so far away and...family trouble. I mean what harm could it do?'

'Friendship between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin goes against the laws of nature, as I recall a certain _someone_ saying.'

'I was twelve, Malfoy. I don't want Harry growing up with the idea that he can't be civil towards other houses; it completely tore my year apart.'

That seemed to strike a chord with the blond; he set the bottle down and stretched his fingers out for one of the dogs to sniff, 'I'll bring the subject up with Draco...I'm not sure how he'll receive the suggestion. He was very upset after Harry rejected his offer of friendship. Cried for weeks-'

'He didn't exactly make a positive example of himself,' James huffed, getting increasingly irritated by the second, 'perhaps if he didn't behave like such an obnoxious git, he wouldn't have a problem making friends!'

His head jerked violently to the side a moment after this sentence, because Lucius had slapped him. Hard. It created a huge sound that bounced off each wall and had the dogs cowering back behind the armchair - though the kitten remained leisurely sprawled out on the rug, all four paws in the air. 

James wondered if he should take this as a signal to leave. He had already outstayed his welcome long enough and a swollen cheek certainly made it known that his presence was no longer wanted. He really couldn't understand Malfoy's intentions; if he was going to behave as if there had never been a thread of affection between them through the years they had known each other, then why bring him back here? Into the solitude of the Malfoy household? They were a proud family; they didn't just allow anyone to walk through their front door.

He just didn't understand _why_.

Cold fingers caressed the red patch of flesh and James realised Malfoy had drifted awfully close, breath almost fogging his glasses. James didn't say anything but his free hand slowly locked between slim, delicate fingers that held on with the inability to let go. It was difficult being angry when he just felt sorry for the man; leaving him alone seemed such a cruel thing to do.

'That hurt.'

Lucius gave his shoulder a small shrug, 'it was earned. You don't speak of my son in such a manner and get away with it.'

'But you know it's true. I'm not attacking the lad, Lucy. I'm just saying that he's obviously traumatised by everything that's happened and maybe if you were to show a little more compassion, he would have an easier time socialising.'

Lucius looked tempted to repeat his previous action but he didn't; instead he craned his head forwards and their lips hovered close, 'Potter...I want to see you again. Though I swear, if you call me Lucy ever again, I'll cat-scratch you.'

'You want to see me again? You didn't seem all that keen on me a minute ago.'

'James...'

The temptation to kiss that arrogant prick had never been so extreme. 'You can come to mine...well, the house belongs to Sirius but we kip there when we're not staying with my sister-in-law.'

Lucius wavered, 'does Sirius even remember me?'

'Of course! How could he possibly forget his pushy cousin-through-marriage who always used to spoil his fun with his snobby prefect-ness?'

'Point taken. Will you have another drink?'

'Only one.'

He ended up having three. With a couple of shots on the side. When he woke up the next morning, there were a few house elves scurrying about to clear up the mess; the pets were lapping up a small pool of chocolate liqueur that had stained into the carpet and the motionless form of Lucius Malfoy was slumped on top of him, finally submitting to the strength of that damned butterbeer. Fortunately, they were both still fully clothed. 

'Mr Potter must be going!' Dobby burbled, juggling the tray of empty glasses in an effort not to stumble and send them all flying,  'Mr Abraxas Malfoy is awake and very angry, sir! Dobby must ask Mr Potter to leave, sir! For Mr Potter's own good!'

'Christ...' James rubbed a hand across his tired eyes and flinched at the loud clatter that came from the room above, 'alright, alright. Where's my coat, Dummy...Dumble...Doorknob...?'


	4. Part One, Chapter Four

‘What happened to _you_?’ was the first thing Sirius asked as James tumbled right on top of him, having apparated too vigorously, ‘I was on the verge of sending out a search party; you’ve been gone the bloody night!’

James made stabbing gestures with his hands as he pulled himself off his friend and took a moment to vomit swiftly into the plant pot nearby as the effects of his reckless teleportation finally got the better of him, ‘I wish I had a goddamn car at times like this.’

‘Don’t change the subject, Prongs,’ Sirius reached over and gave him a poke, though he did make a sympathetic journey to the kitchen to get his friend a glass of water, ‘are you alright? Not hurt, are you?’

‘No, no,’ James mumbled in reply as he accepted the much needed drink, ‘I was just catching up with an old friend, that’s all…’ his nose wrinkled slightly, ‘sorry about the plant.’

‘Never liked it anyway,’ Sirius replied, flicking his wand so the soil sucked in the sloppy alcohol-induced remains of what his friend drank the previous night, ‘now come on, spill; who were you getting wasted with this time? Was it Remus? Please say it was Remus.’

‘I wasn’t _wasted_ ,’ James replied indignantly, ‘and no, it wasn’t Remus. Just someone I haven’t seen in a while. Needed to talk about…things.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Why does it matter?’

‘You’re acting awfully suspicious, Prongs,’ Sirius narrowed his eyes with sly emphasis, ‘you didn’t get up to anything _shady_ , did you?’

‘Oh shut up, Sirius.’

‘Was it Charity Burbage? Harry told me about her; to be honest, I think she’s a bit old for you but I suppose love – or sex, if that’s all you’re looking for – knows no boundaries.’

James nearly bulked again.

‘Or is it that witch who works at The Leaky Cauldron? You always said she had a nice pair of-’

‘ _Sirius,_  that was a long time ago! And you're wasting your time guessing -- it isn't a bird.’

‘Ah, I see,’ was Sirius’s short reply, 'so who is the lucky young gentleman then?'

'None of your flaming business, that's who.'

'Come on, spit it out. Did he go to Hogwarts?'

'Yeah, if you must know. He was a Slytherin.'

'Bummer.'

‘He's a bit older than me--’

‘Got money?’

‘Yeah, lots actually. They're absolutely minted, those Malfoys--'

The word "Malfoy" triggered alarm bells in Sirius's head and all of a sudden his large eyes got even larger, ‘Malfoy? As in my _cousin_ , Malfoy?’

‘Yes Sirius, who else would I be--?’

‘Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?!’ his friend cut in sharply, blood draining from his face, ‘family is family but Lucius is a _Death Eater_. And being members of The Order, that automatically flings us into the shit, doesn’t it?’

‘You’re very lucky Harry’s not in the house, Sirius, otherwise my boot and your backside would be getting very well acquainted for that language of yours.’

‘Oh, _very_ mature Prongs. I’m only looking out for you!’

‘Well, _don’t_. Now can you pretend I never said anything? I don’t feel well.’

Sirius didn’t seem capable of letting this go that quickly. He was giving James  _that_ look; a look only a Black was capable of giving, ‘when do you plan to tell Harry?’

‘What’s Harry got to do with it?’ James replied, getting annoyed, ‘we’re not getting _married_ Padfoot, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Considering the occupation of your new mistress, I would say it has _everything_ to do with Harry.  How do you think he’s going to feel when he discovers he might end up with a Death Eater for a stepfather?'

‘Lucius isn't my mistress, you cheeky git.’

‘ _Concentrate_ Prongs!’ cried Sirius, actually slapping James in the face, ‘you need to write to Harry and explain to him what’s going on.’

‘But that’s the thing; I’m not entirely sure _what’s_ going on. I mean, if old Abraxas Grouchyguts ever found out, he would skin Lucius alive -- and don't hit me, that bloody hurt.’

‘Abraxas is more of the boiling type actually. But I see your point; though you _will_ have to tell Harry if this goes any further…I mean, you _do_ want it to go further, right?’

‘It’s complicated,’ James huffed honestly, “complicated” being a whopping great understatement, ‘I’m going to bed; I feel terrible.’

‘Fine, but-’ Sirius began, only to be cut off by the sound of the door closing, ‘God  _dammit_ Prongs, just listen to me!’

It was at times like this that he wished Remus was there to sort out all their messes like he always did.

* * *

Writing a letter to Harry. A letter. To Harry. James wrote plenty of letters to Harry all the time. How hard could this particular one possibly be? There he was, quill in hand, an inkpot and a blank piece of parchment sprawled out on the desk in front of him. Absolutely nothing to--

Now how should he start?

  **Dear Harry**

 

Merlin, that sounded dry. Harry would know something was amiss as soon as he opened the damned envelope.

 

**Hey Harry**

 

That was more like it. His son would never suspect a thing.

For the first few paragraphs at least.

  **Hey Harry,**

_Guess who? Well, you don't really have to guess because you already know what my handwriting looks like and the owl probably gives it away. I considered sending you a Howler to deliver this message but I figured it would embarrass you in front of your friends so I'll just say it here -- **I MISS YOU!!!**_

_I know you asked me to stop sending you sappy letters such as this but a father's love for his son is unconditional, Harry. It's not my fault Fred Weasley found the last letter and read it aloud to the entire dorm. You should have hidden it better -- have you learned nothing from me??_

_Moving on, I expect an extremely long letter in return from you (minimum five pages) explaining everything you've been up to since starting school and whether you've been behaving yourself. So far there are no letters home, so I'll take that as a good sign but I'm not holding my breath young man!_

 

Now came the tricky part.

 

_On a more serious note, there was something I wanted you to know via this letter, Harry. The thing is, I've met someone. Yes, feel free to gloat; I know I said I would never go looking for love again but this sort of sprang out of nowhere and hit me in the face when I least expected it. The only trouble is, the person I'm currently "seeing" is the parent of_

 

No, no, this wasn't working.

 

 _The person I'm "seeing" is a Death Eater and I know I always told you that Death Eaters are bad news but_ \--

 

Scratch that. He needed to get to the point.

 

_At the moment I'm seeing that man we met at the bookshop, Harry. Draco's father, remember? I know that you and Draco don't get on -- and you didn't exactly catch Lucius at his finest moment. But he's a good man underneath Harry. He's had a horrible time and I would like you to give him a chance. It might be that nothing comes out of this but if it does, I need to know you're comfortable with it. You're my number one boy, remember?_

_Please write as soon as you can; Sirius and I miss you and shall plague you with more sappy letters if you are tardy._

 

Lots of love,

 **Dad** x

* * *

'Harry, you've got...something...just...' Hermione made small, awkward gestures with her hands towards Harry's face, motioning to the smear of oatmeal that had found its way under his glasses, 'here, let me.'

Harry was too tired to object to the notion; he allowed her to wipe the mess off his face, his breakfast still untouched -- reason being he had been sleeping in it for most of the morning.

Harry's sleeping patterns were always thwarted the first term he arrived back at Hogwarts. Mostly because he had spent the entire summer sleeping in until one in the afternoon but also due to the stress of leaving his dad behind; they had never really been away from each other before he started school and the separation anxiety was beginning to grate on the poor boy's nerves. Sometimes Harry even considered not returning to Hogwarts at all; just settling for some Muggle school around the corner so he could escape back to Sirius's house whenever he felt the need.

For now he had to settle with the odd letter or two every week. James was holding down a part-time job in a hardware store just to keep himself busy and didn't always have the time or energy to post anything; but he always made the effort when he could, with a few sweets to compensate his tardiness. 

'You spent the whole night on that letter, Harry,' mumbled Ron through a mouthful of peanut butter on toast, 'I thought you weren't all that big on writing.'

'It's for my dad,' Harry sleepily replied and he pushed his uneaten breakfast out of reach just as the owls flew in with the mail; a large envelope landed in Seamus Finnigan's porridge and he plucked it out between two fingers.

'That bird of yours needs glasses, Harry,' said Seamus as he handed the letter over and Harry wiped the mess off the corner with the sleeve of his robe; it was definitely his father's handwriting but he didn't want to read it there, in the middle of the hall. James's letters were a personal thing.

'I'll see you in class,' he told Ron and Hermione and quickly scampered out into the corridors, fingers fiddling with the seal as he rounded the corner -- and promptly collided with Draco Malfoy. Harry managed to remain on his feet but the Slytherin was caught off balance and in a moment of clumsiness, ended up on the floor.

'In bowling, Muggles would call that a strike,' Harry said dryly but he helped Malfoy up anyway, smirking at the deep shade of red the blond turned as he accepted the hand of his nemesis, 'why aren't you at breakfast?'

'Why aren't _you_?'

'Because I have a father who loves me so much, he sends me big fat envelopes like this one,' he waved James's letter in Malfoy's face potently, satisfied with the scowl it earned, 'when was the last time _your_ father wrote to you, eh Malfoy?'

'He hasn't had the time,' Draco bit back, though it sounded like he was about to cry, 'and if your father had a decent job, he wouldn't have the time either. Only he spends all day slaving for Muggles while scrounging off my cousin at the same time.'

Harry squared his shoulders, 'we don't scrounge off him. Sirius is my Godfather -- he's family.'

'He's _my_ family, not yours. He has nothing to do with you.'

A growl rose at the back of Harry's throat, 'as if Sirius would ever want to be a part of that mess. He's better than the lot of you put together. And when we find Uncle Regulus, he's going to come live with us too.'

'He's dead and you know it!'

They both went silent and Draco covered his mouth, his eyes filling with water. Usually their arguments ended here, when they had pushed each other over to the edge of the line and had run out of ways to insult each other. But Malfoy wasn't finished yet; he took advantage of Harry letting his guard down and snatched the envelope from his hand, pulling out the letter.

' _Hey Harry, guess who?_ ' he read aloud in the most disgraceful imitation of James he could muster, despite Harry seizing the back of his collar in an effort to retrieve his property, ' _I miss you, even though I'm just a pathetic Muggle-lover who's a traitor to the Wizarding World_ \--'

'Give that back!'

'-- _the thing is, I've met someone._ Ha, looks like you're getting a stepmother, Potter!' Draco sneered, though Harry almost had him in a headlock, ' _at the moment I'm seeing_ \--'

Malfoy had his back to him but Harry could tell something had changed in his demeanour. He was staring at the words in dumbfoundment, as if he had forgotten how to read -- and then suddenly he was crumpling up the parchment, tearing it to pieces.

'What are you _doing_ ?' Harry cried, trying in vain to grab the shredding paper, 'that's from my dad, stop!'

He didn't stop. Malfoy tore and tore until he was in tears, the ripped parchment now littered around his feet, 'damn you and your stupid, Muggle-loving--!' 

He didn't finish. He swept furiously down the hall with huge, fat tears rolling down his white cheeks while Harry knelt to the stone floor and cupped what was left of James's letter between trembling hands. 

'Last time I checked, the floor was not an appropriate place to sit, Mister Potter.'

Harry resisted a sigh at the pretentious melody that was Professor Snape's voice; but this one exhalation of breath could very well deduct fifty points from Gryffindor alone and he was aware that his cheek would not be appreciated by his fellow classmates in that regard. He stared up at the professor with watery eyes, hands becoming fists so the parchment scrunched further.

'It wasn't...it didn't...Malfoy--'

Two black eyes rolled ever so slightly in their sockets and Snape calmly ordered, 'hands, Potter.'

Harry's brow creased but he held his hands out anyway, some of the paper fluttering between his fingers and landing in a pile on the floor. Snape took his wand out, hovering the tip over Harry's cupped palms and slowly all the pieces came together, drifting into one place until the words were comprehensible again. Harry was used to magic, but it still took him by surprise occasionally.

'Professor, I...I mean...thank yo--'

'Lessons begin in five minutes, Potter. Tardiness will cost your house ten points,' Snape stepped over the boy to continue stalking down the corridors with his usual impassive glare, 'and poking your tongue out at your teacher's back is an additional fifty.'

Harry shut his mouth quickly, wondering if the rumors were true and Snape really did have eyes at the back of his head. 'Thank you, Professor,' he called out again, lamely, before Snape could turn the corner and he felt immensely proud of himself for not cringing at the notion of showing gratitude to such a miserable man, 'thanks a million.'

Snape's expression didn't change but Harry saw his eyes look up to the light and he flinched as if in a great deal of pain. This didn't last for long. The professor composed himself and turned the corner, leaving Harry to quickly gather his supplies as the students began pouring out of the hall.   


	5. Part One, Chapter Five

* * *

**November, 1992**

* * *

 

‘You’re bleeding.’

Lucius felt his face go red, which was embarrassingly noticeable with porcelain skin such as his own. His fingers pinched the handkerchief hidden in his sleeve and delicately wiped the tiny smear of blood gathered at his left nostril, emitting a faint “ _hmph_ ” at James's comment, ‘yes, I noticed.’

They had been sitting outside the wards of St. Mungo’s for almost an hour now, their wayward sons having become too enthusiastic on the Quidditch field which resulted in a violent collision and several bruised ribs. It wouldn't have been all that serious had that confounded Lockhart not intervened and left Harry with jelly for a right arm. And now Madam Pomfrey was holding off all visitors -- including parents -- until the Skele-Gro had kicked in and the famous Harry Potter was no longer yelling his head off.

While James was noticeably distressed at being forbidden to see his child, Lucius was unusually subdued. He sat quietly in his seat, his breathing drawn out and somewhat rugged, as if he was struggling for air. James wasn't always too observant of other people's feelings -- which wasn't necessarily his fault, he just had a bad habit of failing to notice the obvious -- but he could tell when somebody was trying to convey emotion and failing miserably. Lucius didn't know how to show stress in front of other people; he had been raised to never show any sort of weakness, especially to the likes of James Potter. That incident at the platform had been a one off.

'I must say, I was impressed by Draco's... _interesting_ display during the game,' James leaned back in his chair as Malfoy finished cleaning himself up, 'I don't think I've ever seen someone fall off a broom so gracefully.' 

Lucius looked at him so fiercely, James was almost certain he would grow whiskers and hiss; he held his hands up in defense, 'joke! It was a joke! Just trying to clear the air a little...'

Madam Pomfrey hadn't been exaggerating when she said regrown bones were a nasty business. As if the Skele-Gro wasn't bad enough, Harry had spent the last two hours enduring painful cramps and having to listen to Draco's whining in the process. He didn't believe that Malfoy had anything to complain about; according to the nurses, he had a few bruised ribs and a sprained elbow but at least his bones were still neatly intact and not forcefully cracking themselves back together. You would have thought somebody had stuck a knife in him, with the noise he was making. 

'This is all _your_ fault, Potter!' he spat as soon as Madam Pomfrey was out of earshot, 'if you hadn't been such a dirty cheat, we wouldn't be here! Typical Gryffindor!'

'As I recall, _you_ were the one who barged _me_ first,' Harry retorted, still out of breath from another painful crack beneath his skin, 'don't worry though; if you're really that desperate to hold a snitch, I can always organise a private meeting between you and Wood.'

Draco's teeth clenched together so hard, it was a miracle they didn't shatter. But fortunately Madam Pomfrey returned that moment with a calming draught to put an end to his complaints and after a spoonful the boy was already becoming quieter by the second.

The events of the match were still eating at Harry and it wasn’t because of Malfoy or the stray bludger; it was more to do with his father sitting shoulder to shoulder in the stands with Malfoy senior as if it wasn’t completely abnormal. He was fully aware of James’s notorious history with Slytherins if his relationship with Severus Snape was anything to go by; and although Sirius tried to play it off like it was nothing, Harry was rather unforgiving with he and his father’s treatment of their former classmates (the worst story had to be the one where Professor Snape “somehow” ended up in the Shrieking Shack during a full moon and very nearly became an appetizer for Uncle Remus, which Harry still refused to believe was a simple misunderstanding.) So to see him with a Malfoy -- a _Malfoy_ of all people -- without so much as a dirty look between them was unsettling. His feud with Draco was bad enough; he didn’t need James starting one of his own.

‘ _Finally_ ,’ was the first thing James said when he was allowed into the ward, ‘Merlin’s beard, Harry, what did that fool do to you?’

Harry felt his face grow hot, before he realised that his father was referring to Gilderoy Lockhart and not Draco who was burrowing himself securely into Lucius’s front, ‘didn’t you know, Dad? I’m planning to join the circus as soon as I’ve passed my NEWTS.’

‘Over my dead body,’ James huffed and ruffled the boy’s hair, ‘you had me scared there for a moment, Tumbles. I don’t know what the heck got into that bludger but it was certainly out to get you. What did you do, insult its mother?’

Draco hadn’t said anything so far, which surprised Harry because he had anticipated a heartfelt speech to Mr Malfoy about how Slytherin losing the game was entirely Potter’s fault, despite their new brooms. The calming draught must have been stronger than he thought; Draco was almost asleep in Lucius’s arms and the older man had his nose pressed into the child’s silken blond hair as if in fear that he would never touch it again.

‘So did you get my letter?’

Harry’s mind had wandered so far it was practically in space and he went, ‘mhm,’ before he could stop himself, failing to notice how James had lowered his voice until it was lingering on a whisper.

‘And what do you think?’

It was an awkward few seconds before Harry realised James had been speaking to him and his green eyes fluttered in surprise, ‘hmm?’

‘What I said in the letter I sent you – you’re okay with it?’

Oh Merlin, the _letter_. It had been an entire week and Harry hadn’t even looked at it. You would have thought that after Draco’s reaction to whatever was written, he would be in more of a hurry to see what James had said; but the tedious obstacles of schoolwork, Quidditch practice and Snape’s prolonged detentions meant that James’s message was still shut away in the bottom drawer of Harry’s bedside table, untouched. He considered telling his dad the truth; James would understand after all. But he had already told James he had read it, albeit unintentionally. Backtracking from that would just be…awkward.

‘Uhm…yeah. I think it’s great.’

Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been all that bad. Most likely his dad had applied for a different job or Sirius was thinking of painting the house purple…or something. He had obviously said the right thing, because all the colour returned to James’s face and he visibly relaxed, ‘I’m so glad, Harry. I was worried you might…’ his voice drifted off into the silence of the ward and he caught Lucius’s gaze in the corner of his eye, ‘I’m really glad you feel that way.’

Draco’s face had gone an abnormal shade of pink and Harry may have been inclined to confess had Madame Pomfrey not returned and informed their parents that visiting hours were over.

‘I’ll owl you tomorrow,’ James leaned down and kissed the scar on Harry’s forehead, ‘get some rest and give Lockhart a kick in the pants for me.’

Lucius stayed a while longer, smoothing Draco’s hair out of his face and rubbing away the faint smear of dirt still stained on his cheek from the Quidditch grounds. ‘Don’t scare me like that again,’ he murmured, voice shaking as they made eye contact; he took a few seconds to breathe and Harry noticed a tiny bubble of blood appear from his left nostril, quickly wiped away, ‘I’m not going to prevent you from playing Quidditch – once you’re better, you have my permission to continue playing -- but do try not to throw yourself off your broom next time.’

Draco snorted rather unattractively, the first time Harry had seen him smile without a sneer creeping at the sides of his lips. No one could ever have imagined that a Malfoy could look so vulnerable – and surely enough when they were back on their feet, Harry would find a wand at his throat with a warning to never repeat what he had witnessed – but there was something oddly reassuring about seeing his nemesis cradled in his father’s arms. A pleasant reminder that Draco Malfoy was a human being and not an abnormal spawn of dark magic as some would believe.

Lucius disappeared a while after leaving the hospital and James found him dry heaving into one of the garden wells like a cat with a ball of hair in its throat. Before he could speak, there was a sharp gagging noise and the vile sound of vomit leaving the throat; and the ex-Gryffindor didn’t think twice before hurrying over to hold Lucius’s blond hair away from his face.

‘Calm down,’ his breath came out warm against the back of Malfoy’s white ear, ‘he’s alright, your son is alright. Christ Malfoy, _breathe_.’

Lucius did – after almost a minute of holding in the air. He pressed his weight against James’s chest and held it there, his body trembling.  

A few days later, Harry was back in his old dorm and finally able to open James’s letter without any interruptions. He was pleased with the Bertie Bott’s Beans that slipped out; and the tiny box of toffees to go with it. But he was only halfway through reading before he had to stop and re-adjust his glasses to make sure he hadn’t gone completely blind.

* * *

**May, 1993**

* * *

 

Draco had been disturbingly quiet ever since the Quidditch incident and try as he might, Harry couldn’t help but care. Malfoy fed off his attention like a sucking leech and he could only imagine this unusual vow of silence was slowly and painfully starving him. One would have assumed Harry would be more concerned about the huge Muggle-killing Basilisk that was slithering around the school corridors – and he was, honestly – but he just couldn’t shake off the sudden U-turn in his rival’s behaviour within the last six months. At the back of his mind he knew exactly why Draco was keeping his distance; he evidently loathed the fact that his father was “involved” with James as much as Harry did but on a completely different level. Harry was annoyed; because he didn’t really want a Malfoy for a stepfather and James’s insistence that he wasn’t looking for a new partner had obviously been a lie, but Draco seemed positively _murderous_ at the very idea.

With all that had been going on lately aside from this rather nauseating revelation, Harry was surprised he still had time to take a moment for himself and remember what breathing was. He arrived back from the hospital wing after visiting Hermione (who was still as inert as a china doll), and took a moment to quietly cry out all his tears in the privacy of his dorm, asking bloody Merlin why it always came down to him whenever the world went to bloody pieces. He hadn’t cried for a while; usually he was strong enough to keep it all in but now he was tired, lonely, afraid and he wanted to go _home_. He wished he had never gone to Hogwarts. He wished his father was there.

He hadn’t told Ron and Hermione about the news and he didn’t particularly want to, because he would never hear the end of it. He knew exactly how the Malfoy’s felt about Muggleborns and it seemed like the utmost betrayal for James to be pursuing one after the way Hermione had been treated; of course, Draco was more upfront about his prejudice than Lucius was but that didn’t make Harry feel any less disgusted. He just couldn’t understand what his father saw in the man. Yes, Lucius Malfoy was an extremely beautiful looking human being but beauty was only skin deep; from what little Harry had seen of him, he was arrogant, vicious and treated everybody like dirt under his boots. His father wasn’t an idiot; there had to be something more, something that no one else could see when it came to the senior Malfoy. James never would have fallen for him otherwise.

He realised it was almost dinnertime and dragged himself out of bed, wiping his eyes and hoping that if he kept his head down nobody would notice how red and puffy they were. But as soon as he stepped out into the corridor, he immediately wished he hadn’t because Draco Malfoy was hovering about nearby, looking like he wanted to throw himself into the Whomping Willow. He didn’t seem to notice Harry at first but when he did, he glared at him like a wolf about to take a bite out of a lamb and turned his cheek the other way. Any other day, Harry would have welcomed not having to put up with Malfoy’s incompetence. But this had been going on for too long and he was losing his patience.

‘Tell your father to stay away from us, Malfoy,’ he called over uncertainly, though his voice was strong enough to make Draco flinch, ‘I don’t know what he wants but I won’t let him use my dad just so he can get his picture in the Daily Prophet.’

Draco was still but Harry heard a familiar sneer that he thought had died long ago, ‘more like _your_ father is using mine so he can get his filthy paws on our money.’

Harry’s hands balled into fists; he knew his family’s wealth was nothing compared to what it used to be, what with James paying thousands of galleons a year to the Ministry for their protection. But they were not poor by any means – and they certainly didn’t need to schmooze anyone else for some cash, ‘that’s not true. You don’t know anything abo—look, I don’t care what you think. Just keep your father away from mine; if my dad gets hurt, I swear I’ll make your life a misery.’

Draco turned around sharply and marched up to Harry until they were nose to nose, the closest they had ever been, ‘shut up, Potter. For once in your life, just shut up and stop running your jaw about things you know nothing about. You think you’re so perfect just because you’re the bloody Boy-who-lived and that old fool Dumbledore puts you on a pedestal but if you had _any_ idea of what my father has been through, you would think before you opened your big opinionated mouth. I’ve already lost my mother and I’m not going to lose any more if I can help it. Make my life a misery? Go ahead; things can’t get any worse for me than they already are now.’

Harry’s mouth went dry. He had heard a rumour about Draco’s mother but hadn’t entirely believed it until now. Suddenly he realised that he and his rival had been thrown into the same boat; their mothers were dead and now they would do anything in their power to keep their fathers safe.

‘I’m sorry,’ he replied, very slowly, ‘about your mum, I mean. I know how that feels.’

Draco took a step back, his eyes glistening with water and his face contorting as he tried not to cry, ‘no you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like, Potter. I _knew_ my mother. That’s something you’ll never understand.’

It was rubbing salt into an open wound but Harry didn’t argue, because Malfoy was right. Lily was his mother but she was a stranger too. No talking portrait or moving photographs would ever change that. Even looking into the Mirror of Erised was like looking at someone else’s life.

Draco looked satisfied and he turned his back on Harry again. He walked two or three paces before pausing in thought and craning his head back over to speak to the Gryffindor, ‘it’s none of our business, Potter. Sooner or later my father will come to his senses and see what absolute scum your family really is but until then, whatever happens between them has nothing to do with us. Just keep your nose out, Potter. Merlin knows, you would just make things worse.’

This time Harry _wanted_ to argue but Draco had already forgotten about him and was marching down to the Great Hall. It was pointless; like arguing with an empty skin. His glasses steamed up and he no longer cared about dinner; he returned to his dorm and stayed there for the rest of the night, blood pounding in his ears.


	6. Part One, Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was on my phone and accidentally deleted this chapter (so fucking inconvenient) and had to re-write the whole thing again from memory because I didn't save it. In short, it's a lot different from the original post but that's only because I can't remember everything I wrote. Lesson learned and I sincerely apologise for the re-posting.

The prospect of pulling Harry out of school was becoming increasingly probable to James, as he sat outside Hagrid’s Hut, staring out across the empty grounds and wondering how he always managed to make the worst life choices known to mankind.

Was Lucius a bad choice? Everyone else in the Wizarding World would probably think so but despite everything, James still wasn’t certain.

He couldn't stop thinking about that night when they drank themselves into a stupor and ended up curled on that sofa with the prickly horsehair upholstery until dawn; they had talked about politics and Quidditch statistics and that strange little canary Sirius kept caged in his room. Trivial, unimportant things that made James tired (along with the alcohol,) and he woke up the next morning half wishing they could both lie there forever and never move again. He remembered Lucius’s closed eyes framed by delicate long lashes, his silken hair splayed out across his shoulders and how cold that one pale cheek felt when James brushed his beer stained lips against it. He had mulled over the idea of leaving a note but there was an old gargoyle upstairs who went by the name of Abraxas and he didn’t appear to be particularly enthralled by the notion of having guests.

It was rather selfish of him to leave without a word to Lucius, now that James considered it. But Malfoy had had his fair share of being selfish so perhaps this made them somewhat even. James had a remarkable patience for the man; the rumours alone would have prompted any sane person to turn tail and run for the hills while they still had the chance but he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_. There was something disturbingly uncanny about this entire business with the Basilisk and if Lucius had answers, James wanted them before someone ended up dead.

He was interrupted from his brooding by a loud exclamation – ‘ _of all the blundering imbeciles!_ ’ – and the very quick shuffling of feet. Severus Snape came sweeping down the cobbles, clutching a single wilting rose in one fist and crushing a small fragranced note in the other.

James was well aware that he was still on relatively poor terms with the potions master. Despite having matured in many respects, their schoolyard rivalry had continued into adulthood and James had been rather disgusted when Lily decided to write Severus a letter shortly after Harry’s first birthday; forgiving him for insulting her, asking to see him, asking if he wanted to see _Harry_. In James’s mind, anyone who used the word “mudblood” needed a boot up their backside rather than forgiveness. ‘ _But the same could be said for a bully_ ,’ warned Remus and that’s when James began to realise that Lily was far more sensible than he would ever be and that life was too short to waste his time recycling old conflicts.

At Lily’s funeral, he finally shook hands with his childhood enemy and apologised to Severus for the first time in his life. Lily’s note, however, remained hidden at the bottom of a chest of drawers. James had made peace with Snape. That didn’t mean they forgave each other entirely. And it certainly didn’t make them friends.

‘Trouble?’ he asked when the professor was near.

Severus made an odd growling noise at the back of his throat, ‘if that fool calls me his “desert flower” one more time, I’ll feed him to that bloody Basilisk myself!’ He marched up to James, shoving the crumpled parchment under his nose, ‘just look at this!’

James took the offending note and smoothed it out until the words were comprehensible, nose wrinkling at the overwhelming stink of cheap perfume:

 

_Severus dear, my desert flower_

_I fought hard but my chances were slender_

_So I give to you a single rose_

_As a token of my surrender_

And scrawled at the bottom in tiny letters was

_Gilderoy Lockhart xXx_

 

‘Surrender to what?’ asked James rather foolishly but Severus was too busy grumbling to answer.

‘How that arrogant numbskull ever landed a job is beyond me! I think Albus has well and truly lost his marbles!’ He noticed James sniggering and his cheeks went pink, ‘what’s so funny?’

‘Nothing. It’s just...I’ve never heard you say “marbles” before.’

Severus’s dark eyes narrowed dangerously; but he didn’t seem in the mood to quarrel and he took a seat next to James on Hagrid’s doorstep, fiddling with the petals on Lockhart’s lopsided rose.

‘Don’t you have a class to teach?’ asked James to break the silence; they had never been this close to each other without arguing or hexing and it felt most unnatural.

‘Only DADA,’ replied Snape gloomily, ‘but—’

‘Lockhart?’

‘Lockhart.’

More silence followed, save for the sound of squeaking glass as James wiped his spectacles. He slid them back up his nose thoughtfully, ‘did you think the Basilisk was real?’

Severus’s cold lips sucked in and then out again as he wet them; he really wasn’t as ugly as people made him out to be, though strikingly unusual even for someone who worked at Hogwarts. Shoulder-length hair; skin that wasn’t quite as pale as his father’s but then again not so olive like his mother; black, almond shaped eyes; a nose that was very nearly hooked (the sort Fleamont Potter would have described as “smugly Jewish.”) And a pair of thin, colourless lips. Unusual but not what fell under James’s definition of ugly.

‘I had my doubts,’ the professor finally replied, ‘I think the majority of us assumed she was a legend, just like all the other stories about this wretched place.’ He began to fuss with the pockets in his robes and James saw him take out a cigarette, ‘what I don’t understand is why Albus doesn’t shut the place down. I’ve been on his case for weeks but it’s always “just give it some time Severus.” How can he be so _calm_ at a time like this? How can--?’ he stopped short and his hands delved into his pockets again to find a lighter. He put the cigarette between his teeth and brought the flame up to the butt, ‘this is all _bullshit_.’

It was weird hearing Severus curse. He was usually so placid (in a moody sort of way,) but now he was red in the face and his eyes were large and shiny. He kept shifting his right arm and grimacing.

‘You really have to hate Muggles to put a giant lizard under the toilets,’ said James, slightly miffed that he hadn’t been offered a cigarette, ‘I knew Salazar had issues and all but—’

‘Stop talking.’

‘What?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, so don’t bother saying anything at all,’ the potions master blew out a huge cloud of smoke, half of it going up James’s nose, ‘no one knows why that thing is down there. There are so many possibilities; this school could have been attacked at any time and that Basilisk might have been our best defence. But everyone just jumps to the nearest conclusion – all Slytherins are evil, all Slytherins hate muggles, all Slytherins would condone the mass slaughter of innocent children because Slytherins are inhumane beasts. If you would get your head out of your backside for one minute and _think_ for a change, you might consider that Voldemort could easily have turned that creature’s head years ago, enslaved it to bend to his command. Why are you staring at me like that Potter? Of course Voldemort has something to do with this. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that Tom Riddle opened it the first time so of _course_ I believe he’s done it again now.’

Snape paused. The rose had crumbled between his clenched hand, petals littering the stone steps. James felt extremely uncomfortable hearing the man say so much in one go; and he was embarrassed too because Snape did have a point. Nobody really knew how and why that Basilisk was down there. There were a thousand and one theories and he had gone with the most popular. Though a Basilisk as an ally seemed fairly unbelievable.

‘You really think Lord Salazar would have used the Basilisk to protect the school?’ he asked Snape, lips itching for a ciggie.

‘I don’t know. And I don’t pretend to know. You shouldn’t either.’

James opened his mouth to argue. But instead he asked, ‘can I have one?’

Severus looked at him quizzically before realising he was referring to the cigarettes and he held out the packet lazily, ‘I thought you quit.’

‘I did,’ replied James, putting a fag between his teeth and leaning in so Severus’s could light it up, ‘don’t tell Harry.’

The last time James Potter had smoked a cigarette was at Lily’s funeral when he was twenty-one years old. He had vowed never to smoke again after that; but on this particular occasion, he figured he could make an exception. He could imagine his wife’s corpse doing furious somersaults at the very idea.

‘Lily used to hate it when I smoked,’ Severus blurted out unexpectedly, ‘she used to sit in front of me and make faces like she was being disembowelled.’

‘She would snap mine in half when she was angry,’ replied James rather fondly, ‘or she would hide them in the sock drawer…’ he looked down at the rose crumbling in Snape’s fist, ‘so how are you going to let old Lockhart down then? A good old fashioned Howler?’

‘I’m not even going to bother acknowledging his existence,’ Severus growled, scattering more petals, ‘I would rather die alone in a hole than lose my first kiss to that…that…’

The words “first kiss” sent off a surge of mischief in James’s childish brain; he seized both sides of the professor’s head and kissed him the way he kissed Sirius on New Year’s Eve in 3rd year, when he discovered that locking lips with a boy produced the same butterflies that emerged in his gut whenever he kissed girls. Severus didn’t seem to appreciate this at all; as soon as he had overcome the initial shock, he shoved James hard in the chest, sending him right off the steps, ‘what the bloody hell was that Potter?!’

‘Relax,’ replied James, half of him sprawled out on the grass and the other half still flat across the steps, ‘I was just saving you the pain of losing your first kiss to Gilderoy Lockhart. Now you can tell your children that the great James Potter was your first.’

‘I would much rather it had been a cave troll!’ said Severus in disgust, frantically wiping his mouth, ‘if I didn’t fear Lily rising from the grave to haunt me, I would hex you right between the eyes!’

‘I doubt she would be the haunting type,’ James pulled himself off Hagrid’s lawn and brushed the dirt off his clothes, ‘well, this was fun but I have somewhere to be; thanks for the chat, Sniv—er, I mean, Severus. And the fag as well.’

‘If you mention this to _anyone_ —’ Severus began but James was out of arm’s reach before he could finish.

* * *

As soon as Arthur Weasley put his head down to sleep, it immediately felt like he was woken up again. His theory was disproved, because he recalled going to bed at precisely half eleven the previous night and now his weary eyes could just make out the clock face on the bedside table, declaring it 2am. There was an odd racket coming from the rooftop above – likely those damned wood pigeons roosting in the chimney again – and knowing he was never going to get back over with the way his mind was racing, he dragged his heavy body off the mattress and stuffed his feet into a pair of slippers.

The school governors meant well but their assurance that they were “looking into matters” regarding Ginny’s abduction offered little comfort to either him or Molly; if he had his way, he would track down whoever was responsible for opening that damned chamber and snap their scrawny neck with his bare hands. Unfortunately, the Ministry didn’t believe in that sort of justice; but if Ginny was dead, Arthur Weasley would not be responsible for his actions. A giant snake would be the least of everyone's worries.

Halfway up the stairs and he was fairly certain it wasn’t a pigeon. In fact, he was convinced it was human feet, though only an idiot would ever attempt to climb up to the roof of a house as tall as The Burrow.

Turned out to be quite a desperate idiot. With long blond hair and a large bottle of brandy in one hand.

Lucius hadn’t expected Abraxas to ever come back after Narcissa’s funeral. He did and had made an annoying habit of dropping in without being invited ever since; so far he had enforced his authority by locking away all the alcohol in the house – save for the bottle of brandy Lucius kept hidden under his mattress. Muggle stuff it was, tasted absolutely vile. It had been a birthday present from Andromeda about seven years ago. Probably corked by now. He didn’t care. If he was going out, he wasn’t going without a drink.

He had never needed Narcissa so much in his life. She would never have allowed him to change his mind about this entire thing if she was still around; all of these doubts that had been plaguing his tired brain would have been snapped away with her wisdom and he wouldn’t even be considering the possibility of this all being a horrible mistake. All of a sudden he wanted her ghost to descend from the rooftops and whisper some common sense into his ear. He wanted her small lips to gently kiss his cheek like they did on those cold nights when they couldn’t sleep and they would sit by the fire drinking warm butterbeer while Draco slept soundly in his crib.

The Basilisk had been the last straw. Lucius was loyal to his ideals but the massacre of hundreds of children sent his already disturbed brain into a frenzy. It had taken a long time to decide exactly how he was going to end it all. Magic was too risky. He was too much of a coward to slit his throat or stab himself in the gut. He didn’t have the rope for hanging. So that’s why he found himself staggering across the empty fields towards The Burrow. Falling from a great height. Bloodless, hopefully painless and very, very clean.

‘ _Malfoy_?’ Arthur exclaimed under his breath as he poked his head out of Ron’s bedroom window, peering through the darkness at the figure who was wobbling along the drainpipe, ‘what’re you _doing_ here? Get down, Merlin’s sake, are you crazy?!’

Lucius looked genuinely startled hearing Arthur speak; the blood was swelling furiously in his face and he took a long swig from the bottle, ‘yeah, it’s me. The Death Eater; the _sinner_.’

Fog clouded Arthur’s brain and he had to wait four or five seconds before his mind could recover from leaping out of bed so quickly, ‘what’re you talking about? Get off my bloody roof before you break your neck!’

‘You would _love_ that,’ Lucius stopped pacing up and down the pipe, stopping just out of arms reach from where Arthur was hanging out the window, ‘don’t worry; this won’t take long. I just want a word with the man upstairs.’ His bloodshot eyes flashed up towards the morning sky as if waiting for something to fall into his hands, ‘I’m not asking for much, am I? _Am_ I?’ He wasn’t talking to Arthur; he was talking up to the fading stars, hot tears sticking to his lashes and rolling down his clammy cheeks, ‘I’m not asking for much, I just want a hint that you're actually there! JUST GIVE ME A HINT!’

‘ _Shut up_ ,’ Arthur hissed, cringing as he heard Molly stir from downstairs, ‘Mal—Lucius, you need to calm down and get in here before you fall!’

Two grey eyes tore themselves from the view of the sky right into Arthur’s own frightened orbs, ‘oh, I’m safe as houses. I’m not jumping until he gives me some answers.’

‘Who?’

‘Who do you _think_? Salazar! If this is what he wanted, then why does it feel so wrong?’

Bizarrely, Arthur found himself beginning to panic. He despised Lucius Malfoy like a cat despises water but he wasn’t going to stand to the side and allow the man to throw himself off a roof (especially his own;) with a nervous cough, he leaned further out the window and adjusted his glasses, ‘Lucius…what are you saying?’

The Slytherin stared at him until the sobs rose to the back of his throat, making him gag, ‘I killed her, Arthur.’

‘Luci—’

‘I killed a little girl,’ a sound similar to that of a wounded dog followed, ‘Arthur, I _killed a little girl_.’

Arthur felt his face grow hot. Suddenly the notion of Malfoy breaking his neck didn’t seem like such a bad idea, ‘my Ginny? No, my Ginny’s alive. They’re going to find her—’

‘Arthur, the diary.’

‘What diary?’

‘The diary…’ Lucius covered his mouth quickly, as if hoping to push the words back in; Arthur stared at him desperately, heart pounding. A moment later Lucius removed his hand and said ‘you need the diary. You need to destroy it. And now…. now I need to…’ he glanced down at the impending drop below, ‘…before he slits my throat…’

He finished the bottle, dropping it over the side so it shattered in the grass below, ‘you don’t have house elves, right? You’ll have to clean up the mess then…and someone needs to tell Draco at school. I-I tried to write a letter but I just…I couldn’t think of the _words_.’

His mind wandered to James Potter for a moment, as he carefully positioned himself in preparation for leaping to his death. The pair of them had only just found each other again and Lucius was beginning to wonder if he was falling in love for the first time. Perhaps it was the drink talking (most likely.) James Potter didn’t even know what love was. Any Pureblood who married a Muggle-born lacked any sort of morals. He knew all this. So why hadn't that hadn't stopped him?

‘Lucius, stop it!’ Arthur snapped, reaching out desperately despite the distance between them, ‘it doesn’t have to be like this! You’ve done the right thing! We can go to the school, we’ll find Ginny and you can make things right again by helping us!’

‘They’ll want me hanged,’ Lucius whined and he actually sat down, legs dangling over the edge, ‘Arthur, I can’t leave. You never leave him. Once you follow, you can never leave. This is the only way.’

‘Lucius, don’t!’ begged Arthur, lifting one foot up to the windowsill, ‘I’m coming up!’

Malfoy stared at his lap until his hair fell in front of his eyes, shielding his face; clearly he was drunk but bizarrely he had never been able to think so clearly in his life, ‘when I was a child my mother used to push me into the corner and tell me to keep quiet whenever we had guests in the house. If I opened my mouth she would threaten to stick a pin through my tongue. My father heard her once and broke her nose. He shouldn’t have done it but…well, I really thought he was going to be the one to protect me. That’s what a father is meant to do, right? Protect their young? But he didn’t. He _hurt_ me. He _still_ hurts me. What did I do to make him hate me? I wasn’t a bad child. I was quiet and polite to strangers and…and…do you think it’s because of this?’ his hands reached up to grab the ends of his hair, ‘he was always on at me to get it cut. One year I got so angry I cut it myself and ended up bleeding everywhere. It looked horrible short. I don’t understand—’

His voice cut off. He carefully maneuverered himself up to his feet again and his head turned in slow motion until he was staring right into Arthur’s terrified eyes. His lips trembled. He smiled.

‘Tell Draco I’m sorry.’ Was all he said.

Then he dropped from the roof like a stone, landing right on top of Arthur’s flying Ford Anglia.


	7. Part One, Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it's taken a year to update this. University work and personal life has really eaten up my free time and motivation. I hope this makes up for it x

A meeting was held that night in Dumbledore's office -- consisting only of Albus, James, Professor Snape and Harry, who had remained in the Gryffindor common room with a two-way mirror.  The purpose of the meeting had not yet been disclosed but James had a hunch it had something to do with the Chamber of Secrets; and his suspicions were confirmed when Dumbledore requested his son's participation in this bizarre assembly, despite him only being a twelve-year-old boy. Unsurprisingly, Harry knew a lot more about the chamber and its Basilisk than he had previously let on and it all came spilling out that night, while James held his own mirror in trembling hands. 

‘What do you mean a “talking” diary?’

Harry felt a blush creep into his face at James’s question and he took a moment to listen out for any noise up in the dorm room; fortunately, he was met with silence, save for Ron’s quiet sobbing and the gentle crackling of fire from the hearth nearby. He re-adjusted himself on the sofa, propping the mirror up against his hunched knees so he was staring right into his father’s hazel eyes on the other side, ‘it didn’t  _speak_  exactly. But whenever I wrote something, the ink disappeared and it would write  _back_. It said its name was “Tom Riddle,” or whatever. And then it actually  _showed_ me the past, like…it showed me Tom and Hagrid with the monster that killed Moaning Myrtle – only it turned out it wasn’t the monster after all, it was just Aragog and—Dad? Dad, are you listening?’

‘Yes,’ James replied quickly, only half lying, ‘it called itself Tom Riddle? You’re sure?’

‘ _Yeah_ , I’m sure,’ said Harry, impatiently, ‘Dad, what’s all this about anyway? Shouldn’t we be more worried about finding Ginny? Lockhart says he knows a way into the chamber – and believe it or not, I think he’s our only hope right now. He’s won a ton of awards according to Hermione. The Order of Merlin, Third Class; Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award. He even made a shampoo—’

‘That moron is not going anywhere near the Chamber of Secrets, not if I can help it,’ replied James sharply; Severus sniggered instinctively in the background, covering his mouth with a handkerchief to feign a coughing fit, ‘look Harry, I want you to promise me that you’ll stay in your dorm room tonight and not go snooping around like you did with that godforsaken stone.’

‘But Dad—’

‘I mean it, Harry. I won’t have you putting yourself in danger again. I need you to  _promise_ me.’

Harry hated making promises he couldn’t keep. He started twisting his fingers around nervously, ‘But dad, people are saying that  _I_  could be the heir of Slytherin. What if they’re right? I can speak Parseltongue, remember? What if--?’

‘That’s rubbish, Harry,’ James cut in, unable to bear the idea of his son having to put up with that sort of crap from his peers, ‘don’t listen to a word, understand? It’s all rubbish.’

Harry didn’t look convinced. His shoulders began to sag as the long school hours finally caught up with him and he felt his eyes droop ever so slightly. Spending the night in bed was suddenly far more appealing.

‘Get some sleep, Harry,’ James ordered in that compassionately stern voice that reminded Harry of life at home, ‘don’t worry, everything is going to be fine. You’ll see.’

Harry didn’t see. He wasn’t sure how  _anybody_  could see a light at the end of the tunnel with everything that had been happening the past few months. The Basilisk was beginning to haunt his dreams, twisting and turning and wrapping itself around his brain, squeezing hard. Sometimes he could hardly breathe, he was so scared of what might happen, of what might become of Hermione and the others who had been petrified. James didn’t understand. How could he possibly understand?

‘Lucius Malfoy put the diary in Ginny’s cauldron,’ he blurted out before he could stop himself and he blushed even harder than before, his cheeks now scarlet red, ‘I mean…’

‘What are you talking about?’ James looked like he had been stabbed in the gut; his usually brown skin suddenly paled in colour and the tears that had gathered in his eyes finally spilled over and down his cheeks, making Severus frown, ‘Harry…’

‘I saw him put it in her cauldron,’ Harry went on, determined, ‘at least, I  _think_  I did. I mean, if I had known the diary talked at the time, I would have said something but…Dad, if he has anything to do with this—’

‘I have to go, Harry.’

‘Dad?’

‘Just go to bed, Harry. I’ll fix this, I promise. I love you, son.’

There was so much more that Harry needed to say but the sight of James’s tears made his mouth go dry and his tongue retreated back behind his teeth, ‘I love you too…’

James disappeared before Harry could apologise and he took a moment to hug the mirror close to him, as if hoping he could pop through it if he hugged hard enough. When he eventually managed to drag himself upstairs and tuck the mirror away into a drawer, he placed his glasses on his bedside table and slipped into Ron’s bed to hold the still sobbing boy in his arms and tell him that same old lie; that somehow, it was all going to be alright.

As soon as James set his mirror down onto Dumbledore’s desk, he propped his arms onto the solid oak surface and started to cry, ‘damn it! God fucking  _damn_  it!’

Such language would have rewarded him with six strokes on the seat of his trousers had he still been a 5th year; but he wasn’t a Hogwarts student anymore and he could say whatever the hell he wanted in front of the man he had once looked up to as a second father, who was currently shuffling through his damned bookshelves in that infuriatingly calm manner of his. James wasn’t a fool; he knew very well that Dumbledore was avoiding the subject of Harry and this “talking” diary and was simply biding his time until he came up with a response that wouldn’t send the elder Potter on a murderous rampage.

It was hard to believe that James had once thought so highly of Dumbledore; but his age had made him wiser and after Lily’s death, his trust in the old man had declined to the point where he was beginning to find  _Severus_  more dependable (as tactless as he was, at least the miserable old git told you what he thought of you to your face.) Said git hadn't said a word so far; for someone who usually loved giving his input whether it was wanted or not, Snape had remained relatively quiet in his seat ever since he set foot in Dumbledore's office. He didn't even comment on James's blubbering, as embarrassing as it was. Instead he continued to fiddle with his handkerchief, wondering if he should have a go at folding it into a convincing swan.

James was tired. He already felt sick from all the apparating he had done in the space of three hours and now he was weeping uncontrollably like a little boy because this was all his fault and if he hadn’t been such a careless fool--

‘There’s no need to get yourself into a state, James,’ Albus finally spoke up, plucking a fat hardback from the top shelf and pretending to flip through the pages as a small box of tissues appeared in front of James for him to wipe his eyes with, ‘Harry will be perfectly safe here until we have this sorted out.’

' _Sorted out_?' replied James with a sneer, his face still wet, ‘we’re not dealing with a leak in the roof here, Albus; there’s a giant snake loose in this hellhole and a young girl’s life is at stake!’

Dumbledore carefully hitched his half-moon glasses up his nose, quickly losing interest with the book in his hand and returning it to the empty slot on the shelf, ‘I'm well aware of that, James. If the rumours are true and the Dark Lord is somehow involved in this, it needs to be handled as delicately as possible. I agree, the school is by no means “safe,” – but we cannot afford to lose our heads. And if Harry is correct about the diary, it would be in everybody’s best interest to have it destroyed as soon as possible.’

‘What good would that do?’ asked James with a loud, wet sniff and he pulled out a tissue to wipe his eyes with, ‘surely the Ministry would—’

‘Now is not the time for this discussion, James. I suggest you go home and get some rest; Argus is keeping an eye on the corridors to ensure the students stay in their dorms and McGonagall has placed a ward on the girl’s bathroom in case Master Potter gets any ideas. If Mr Lockhart has even the fraction of experience he claims to have in such matters, this could all be over within hours.’

Severus’s swan quickly disappeared as he scrunched it in his fist.

James put his hands over his face; he would have cried some more if he wasn’t so exhausted and right now he could barely muster a sob. He removed his hands and clasped them together like he was praying, ‘I can’t let Harry stay here, Albus. I can’t go back home and pretend nothing is happening, that I don’t feel _sick_  at the thought of him spending another moment here. And what’s worse, he’ll go looking for it; he’ll go looking for a way to open the Chamber of Secrets and deal with this Basilisk himself, you  _know_  it!’

He wondered if Dumbledore was even listening to him. The man seemed more preoccupied with the bowl of sherbet lemons near James’s head and promptly took one out to unwrap as soon as the younger man had finished his speech, ‘I’m afraid this is out of my hands now, James. You’re welcome to bunk with Severus tonight if it will ease your mind but that’s the best I can do. I’m sorry.’

James and Severus locked eyes a moment; bunking together would be like putting two cats in a cold bath. But it was, unbelievably, far more appealing to James than having to stay at home twiddling his thumbs.

‘Thanks for the chat, Albus,’ James bitterly stole a sherbet lemon from the bowl and popped it out of the wrapper, pushing his chair away from the desk, ‘be sure not to let the school burn down while I’m gone.’

‘James?’

James paused, putting the sweet on his tongue and letting it melt into a sugary mush in his mouth, ‘Albus?’

He heard the old man’s feet on the stairs again and Dumbledore dropped something onto the desk, finally tickling James’s curiosity so he turned back around. The old Sorting Hat was sprawled between the treat bowl and a disorganised pile of books; but before he could make a dry comment about how the hat really wasn’t his colour, he saw a flash of silver and the dull glimmer of a single ruby as a sword slowly appeared out of thin air, nestled in the ageing material.

Severus’s dark eyes went wide. ‘That’s--’

James cleared his throat, swallowing down the sherbet, ‘Godric’s sword.’ He reached out a curious hand to touch the handle but it disappeared as quickly as it came, as if it had never been there in the first place.

‘I’m sure you’re far too old for adventures nowadays, James,’ Dumbledore had that familiar glitter in his eyes, the sort that appeared whenever he knew something was about to happen –particularly something concerning the Potters, ‘but nevertheless; take this with you. You might make good use of it.'

 _Clever bastard,_ James scoffed internally.

* * *

‘No.’

‘For God’s sake, Severus, you haven't even heard my idea yet!’

‘You’re planning to enter the Chamber of Secrets tonight and you want me to go with you. I’m telling you now that the answer is _no_.’

James paused a moment to catch his breath, wondering how the potions master managed to walk so quickly without having a seizure, ‘what’s the matter? Rather spend the night with your chemistry set instead?'

Severus growled, ‘ _grow up_ ,’ but he stopped and turned around to face James, his hands moving to his hips, ‘I don’t know why you’re asking me anyway. Surely that scraggly mutt you call a friend is more suited to following you around than I am.’

‘Sirius doesn’t like snakes,’ James’s lips curled up to laugh but then he saw Snape’s tiger leer, ‘look, I know we haven’t always got along—’

‘Understatement—’

‘—but we both know that you’re a damn good wizard and you seem to know more about Basilisks than anyone else around here. I have the chance to finish this now but I can't do it without _you_.’

Severus looked like he was ready to throw himself out of a window. He closed his eyes, softly inhaled through his nose and diverted his gaze just above James’s head, to the flickering candle on the wall.

‘If you get us killed—’

‘You’ll kill me. I know.’

* * *

‘You’re not dying on me,’ Arthur said for the fifth time that evening. He had been staring at Lucius’s ghostly white face for almost two hours and the cursed man still hadn’t moved a muscle. He wasn’t dead but he may as well have been; he was so still, so white, he resembled something awfully close to a corpse. ‘I’m telling you right now, you slimy bastard. There’s no way you’re getting out this easy.’

Molly was in the kitchen, washing the blood out of the sheets she had used to cover Lucius’s wounds while Arthur worked on fixing his fractured neck. It was a gruelling thirty minutes before they finally established that he would live. But he had yet to show any sign of consciousness; it was like talking to a sleeping, porcelain doll.

‘Come _on_ ,’ Arthur urged, impatient and bordering on hysterical, ‘this isn’t ending here, Malfoy. You’re not bleeding out on my sofa. I haven’t had the satisfaction of beating the living daylights out of you yet.’

He honestly believed his insults might be enough; that Lucius would somehow go into automatic defence mode and start shouting back. Nothing happened. The man was frozen. Arthur took off his glasses, setting them on the coffee table in defeat.

‘So, this is it then? I imagined something a bit more chaotic; a duel to the death or whatever. But you went and threw yourself off my roof instead. I’ll give you credit Malfoy, I didn’t see that one coming.’ He laughed. It came out raw and pitiful. ‘It’s sad, really. I mean, I always feel like knocking you between the eyes whenever I see your stupid, smug face but I don’t want you dead. You came here tonight and told the truth after all; you’re not too far gone, you prat. You can open your damn eyes and help us make this right. Or you can lie there and die, like a coward. That seems more fitting for you, I suppose. I can't imagine what it's like being you; being such a lapdog, you can't even think for yourself. But you meant what you said up there, didn't you? You were drunk as a pig but you _meant_ it. You're a pompous twat, Malfoy, but hell, don't die on us now.’

He finished his speech and took a moment to drink in the silence, the only thing audible being the taps running in the kitchen. If there was ever a time for him to wake up and discover the past few months were only a hideous nightmare, then this was it. Exhaustion took hold of him. He pulled up an armchair and made himself comfortable, or as comfortable as a man could be in such a state of shock. The clock on the wall ticked ominously nearby; Arthur reached over and clasped one of Lucius's white hands in his own.


End file.
